Everybody Wants to Rule the World
by Calla Mae
Summary: "She came from the bloody maze," Newt told Gally in disbelief. Newt looked down when Gally held his hand out, offering a small piece of paper; "I found this in her pocket." Newt stared at the words and read them over and over again: Keep her safe. But how did she get there, and what did it mean? Why does she know Thomas and Teresa? And why did WICKED send her? Newt/OC
1. Welcome to your life

_Everything is so bright._ That was the first lucid thought that stuck in her mind as she lay numbly staring at the brilliant sky above her. Her next thought was that everything was wrong, she shouldn't be staring at the sky she should be staring at – there was nothing there. No thoughts, no memories of where she'd come from, her mind was entirely blank.

But that wasn't true, not entirely. There were pieces she could remember, with each slow sedated blink there was a memory: a dark room, hands dragging her or helping her stand she didn't remember which, and two pale faces with the bluest eyes. She couldn't remember their features, just white skin and blue eyes.

_Find the center _

she remembered a voice frantically telling her that, shaking her roughly as she'd stood quivering in fear

_you have to find the center before the sun sets._

She supposed she had to get up then, but she didn't really want to. It wasn't until she sat up that she remembered a sudden blow to her head, ending the last memories she had before waking up. There was no way of knowing how long she laid curled in a ball clutching her aching head, deafened by a shrill ringing in ears, no way of knowing if she'd been conscious the whole time or if she'd passed out.

The sun was warm on her skin and it gradually grew warmer as it crept its way along the sky, the mark of time passing. She didn't want to get up. She didn't want to do anything but lay there pulling her body tighter into herself trying to shrink. But she didn't know how far the middle was, she didn't know _where_ she was – only that she was told not to stay.

And so she forced herself to her feet, holding her hands out as her knees tried to collapse before righting herself and looking to see what was around. There was a passageway behind her leading to another wall with what looked like a small circular door – the faint memory of creaking metal and a chilled fear had her turning to the towering walls in front of her. They were stone, ancient looking, old enough vines had grown along the thick slabs. It was a maze, she had to navigate a maze before the sun set without actually knowing what she was looking for in the center – she couldn't even blink away the black stars twinkling around her vision. But it was all she had to go on, and what other choice was there but for her stumble on.

little alice fell

d

o

w

n

the h**O**le,

**bumped** her head

and _bruised_ her soul

She laughed at the sudden thought of words she'd read in a book, seeing not all of her memories were gone. How strange it must've looked, a girl walking drunkenly alone with a smile on her face; she probably looked crazy. _Oh but I am crazy,_ she thought. _Poor crazy Eleanor._ She just couldn't remember why.

Her head was killing her, literally. It felt as though there was a gaping hole on the side of her head where half her brain had been taken out, and she thought if she sat down to rest she may never get back up. So she leaned against the walls, using them as a crutch to keep her on her feet as she pushed herself forward – she used them also to find where the straight path turned in another direction. The whole world was a spinning blur, shapes mixing together and colors fading in and out. One minute she was dragging her shoulder along the wall letting her feet guide her to whatever was in front of her, and then the next minute her shoulder slipped around the edge of a wall and she stumbled around the corner facing a new direction. A few times she'd run into a dead end, quite literally, and turned back only to find another wall where there hadn't been one before. She'd panicked the first time thinking she was trapped, blindly slamming her heads against the stone until finally she found the new path – it hadn't been there before, it'd been on the wall she'd first leaned against.

_Great, the walls move by themselves_, she thought as she moved slowly down the new passage. She'd never find the center if the maze changed itself, and she could neither see clearly enough nor did she know where in the maze she'd started to know what direction she should be going. But little did she know the changing of the walls was leading her directly to the heart of the maze.

After hours of endless walking, having almost given up and laid down to sleep, she finally heard the sound of something other than her own heart and deep ragged breaths; she heard other people, distant incoherent voices, the noises they made. She was mindlessly putting one foot in front of the other, blackness creeping around her vision threatening to take her sight completely – she hadn't even noticed it was brighter ahead, it barely even registered in her mind that there would be people who could help her. She was barely conscious as she moved her feet, nearly falling to her knees when suddenly the wall that had been holding her up disappeared and she was forced to stand on her own.

…

Newt was walking toward the Homestead when he heard Gally's loud cry of, "Hey!"

"Can't go a bloody second without someone needin' me," he muttered before following the sound of his voice. A few more times Gally said hey, his voice not so loud and quickly growing agitated. "Slim it, Gally. What is it?" he asked walking to the back of the Homestead to see Gally on his knees hovering over a small body. "No bloody way," Newt breathed in shock.

Paying no mind to Newt behind him, Gally looked down at the girl who stared blankly in front of her. "Can you hear me?" he asked her worriedly. He'd been coming back to the Homestead himself when he'd caught sight of her walking away from the door; he hadn't been able to believe what he was seeing – long brown hair, a sweater and a white smock. It was a shucking girl. And then she'd clung to the wooden building, her head resting against it wearily before she wilted to the ground – leaving a trail of crimson where her head had been.

"Where the shuck did she come from?" Newt asked kneeling down to better look at her. She looked seventeen, maybe a year older, her dark hair a halo around her head. Her face was sharp; sharp nose, sharp chin, sharp cheeks – she wasn't necessarily beautiful, but hers was the face of elegance. Though she was incredibly thin, and her skin was several shades too pale as though she were ill.

Gally looked toward the doors knowing it wasn't possible, but she hadn't come from the box. "I think she came from the maze," he answered hearing Newt sputter at the impossibility. "Can you hear me?" he asked her again, turning her head to see the blood in her hair.

"Is she hurt?" Newt asked seeing for the first time the dark stain on the side of her head. "Jeff, Clint." He heard the sound of the Med-jacks' feet hurrying toward them, by the time they reached them the girl's eyes had closed and she lay completely still – her skin was so pale she looked like she was dead.

"There's no shuckin' way," Jeff said when he rounded the corner with Clint to see the unconscious girl laying on the ground. "How'd she get here?"

Gally shifted his weight as he bent down to hear if she was breathing, the rise and fall of her chest too little for him to see - hearing the crinkling of something in her sweater pocket. "She won't be here for long if you shucks don't do something," he told them.

"Let me see her," Clint said before taking Gally's place, checking her pulse and brushing her hair out of the way to see the gash on her head. "Get Nick," he told Jeff before gathering her in his arms and standing. "Try to keep everyone away while we check her out," he told Gally.

Newt, who had moved toward the door, stood staring at the few dark spots on the right side of the wall where she must've leaned her head against it needing the support. "She came from the bloody maze," he told Gally in disbelief when he stopped beside him. Newt looked down when Gally held his hand out, offering a small piece of paper.

"I found this in her pocket."

Newt stared at the words and read them over and over again, finding that reading them was even more hard to believe than the girl.

**Keep her safe**

* * *

><p><em>So the new movie got me to reread the Maze Runner, and then this idea came to me - and would not leave me alone until I wrote it. And Newt has always been my favorite character and I love the actor they got for him. I can only hope this story will do James Dashner's creation justice. And I hope you guys will enjoy it. Feedback is always welcome.<em>


	2. there's no turning back

Gally had a time keeping the other Gladers out. The moment Jeff had found Nick and spoke of a girl the news had spread faster than a wildfire and everyone but the runners had swarmed the Homestead hoping to see. He'd only let three guys through; Jeff, who was in a rush to get back and see if Clint needed help, Nick, who'd taken Jeff's hurry as worry and barely told the guys to get back to work before disappearing in the building, and Newt who'd been told to come up and tell them what'd happened.

"Get back," Gally warned them, hearing their groans of refusal as they gathered around wanting to go in.

"Is it really a girl?" one Glader asked.

"What's she look like?"

"I call dibs on her."

"Why do you get dibs?" another cried.

"We can share her, ya klunkhead."

And on and on it went, their voices rising in volume, their bodies pushing closer forming a circle around him as he barred the door; and Gally quickly had enough – he found her and he wasn't about to let any of these shuck-faces near her. The first boy to step into the circle created around Gally was shoved violently back, knocking down the Gladers who'd been behind him. "If any of you slintheads try it again I'll throw you to the shuckin' Grievers myself," he yelled.

His threat stilled the group, for a moment. Gally was tall and broad-shouldered, and mean – but he stood with his arms crossed waiting for someone else to step closer so he could shove them again, and maybe he really would give them to the Grievers. Either way it kept them back, but it didn't keep them quiet. They started throwing insults at Gally, asking if _he _was calling dibs.

But they fell silent when Alby stepped forward, neither him nor Gally being particularly close, and they watched him move to the place beside Gally as he too guarded the door. Alby was shorter than Gally but his shoulders were thick and his face was stern. "Don't you shucks have work to do?" he asked them calmly; it the still way he stood there glaring at them all that had them shuffling back to work – talking amongst themselves about who the girl was and what she was doing there.

When they'd all reluctantly gone Alby turned to Gally. "She didn't really ride in on a Griever, did she?"

Gally's neck twinged at how fast he turned to the other boy. "What kind of klunk is that?" he asked, wondering who'd started that rumor so he could punch him in his shuck face.

…

Newt stood beside Nick watching Clint stitch her head; it wasn't professional, it probably wasn't even sanitary, but it'd get the job done. "Gally found her," he said. "When I got there she was laying on the ground."

"Did she really come from the maze?" Nick asked him quietly, unable to wrap his head around how that possible, and even more how she'd navigated it to find her way to the Glade.

It really did seem impossible, and Newt wouldn't have believed it himself if he hadn't found the proof. "There's blood from her head on the wall," he answered, watching Jeff check the rest of her over while Clint fixed her head – seeing him pause at her arm and whisper something to the other Med-jack. "Gally took this from her pocket," he said handing the crinkled paper to Nick so he could read it.

"What does this buggin' mean?"

Clint and Jeff looked up curiously. "What is it?"

Nick shook his head irritably knowing a girl showing up, from the maze no less, meant trouble. "It says keep her safe. Keep her safe from what?"

The two Med-jacks shared a look before glancing back down at the girl. "Maybe the place she came from," Jeff answered earning himself a sharp look from Nick and a confused one from Newt. "Take a look at this," he said holding out her arm, the sleeve of the sweater pushed up to reveal her slender wrist and the dark bruise that encircled it.

"This one's the same," Clint said pulling up the sleeve on her other arm to show the same bruise on that wrist.

Nick stepped forward and looked closely at her, taking in her unnaturally pale skin, her gaunt face, and the bruises. "She's small," he said, noticing the sweater seemed to engulf her shoulders.

Jeff nodded unhappily. "Whoever's been taking care of her hasn't been feeding her well. I mean look at her skin, I don't think she's been outside in a while – which I guess makes sense since she's in a hospital gown. But these," he held up her arm, "came from being tied to a bed."

Newt suddenly found it hard to look at the girl lying unconscious on the bed, as though he was invading whatever privacy she had by looking at the bruises on her arms – and there were others, small little pricks from a needle. Someone had been injecting her with something, Clint guessed sedative and Jeff didn't shucking know. He didn't know what to do anymore, he'd been so curious to see her – to stare at her pretty face because he couldn't remember the last girl he'd seen. But he didn't want to look at her anymore, to see the barely breathing shell of a once lovely girl.

"Tell the Keepers I'm calling a Gathering when Minho gets back," Nick told Newt turning from the girl, not knowing what he was supposed to do with her.

He nodded almost relieved to have an excuse to leave her, though the moment he opened the door he looked back to where she still lay – he found himself caught between wanting to leave and a strange need to stay, as if the moment he closed the door behind him she'd disappear.

"Do I need to shuckin' say it again?" Nick demanded, his teeth were set on edge by the change of events; her being here couldn't be good, and he had no way of knowing if what she needed to be kept safe from was going to come looking for her. But he stood there with his hands balled into fists not understanding why he felt the need to protect her – whether it was the plea on the paper or seeing the obvious signs of mistreatment, and she really was very small. "Lift up the dress," he said after Newt left, making both Med-jacks turn to him startled by the request. "I need to see how bad it is."

All three boys were seeing for the first time a girl naked, something they could only dream of because no one could remember a girl they'd known – but it was lost on them as they stared at the pitiful expanse of her abdomen. Her skin stretched over the bone of her ribs before shrinking at her stomach, only to have to stretch over her hips; it looked like someone had hung skin on a skeleton. It was revolting, sickening, almost painful to look at.

Nick didn't realize he'd given up the thoughts of sending her back until he stood at the Gathering with the other Keepers telling them everything he knew, save Gally who stood guarding the door to the Homestead refusing to leave – not until Minho suggested sending her back in the maze, using her to find the way out or offering her up as bait if something came looking for her. Before Minho had even finished speaking Nick had already decided she would remain with them under their protection.

Jeff had spoken up next in her defense. "Someone hit her head buggin' hard, if she even remembers where she was or how she got here she probably couldn't see well. You can show her the map room when she wakes up but unless you plan on carrying this shank through the maze she's not strong enough to go."

"The she-bean made it here, didn't she?" Minho demanded not willing to be told no, not when she proved the way out was in the maze.

"Yeah, nothing short of a shucking miracle," Jeff yelled in answer. "It'll be at least a month before she could even run around the Glade."

"Slim it, both of you," Nick told them harshly silencing them. "Jeff's right, she's in bad shape; we'll show her the map room when she wakes up, see if she remembers anything. The more important question is what do we do tonight because we have Gladers who wanna sleep and the shank everyone wants to see upstairs. And we still don't shuckin' know if anyone's gonna look for her. Newt what d'you think?" he asked turning Newt's head in surprise. "You and Gally found her, Gally's not here; what do you think we should do?"

Newt stood cursing Gally for not being there since he was the one who found her, and he cursed Nick too for leaving the decision on him – no one knew what to do, not even their leader, and now it was suddenly all on his shoulders. He shrugged before answering; "Tell 'em upstairs is restricted, have Gally guard the door and Jeff and Clint inside if he tries something."

It was as good a plan as any and Nick nodded. "Good that," he told them. "Minho, you volunteered yourself to gather up Baggers in case anything happens tonight, tell them they'll have the day off tomorrow," he said seeing Minho's ready refusal. "If she wakes up tomorrow I want you here to show her the map."

Minho reluctantly nodded, wanting himself to be here because she was their only way out. "Good that," he agreed finally.

Nick turned Jeff. "I wanna know the second she wakes up, and send for Newt too," he said, turning Newt's head at being yet again volunteered for something without being asked. "It might be easier to get through her shuck head if she recognizes you or Gally."

Newt shrugged though he wanted to be there to see what the new Greenie was made of, wanting as much as everyone else to just look at her. But he wanted to see her awake, to know what color her eyes were, to hear the sound of her voice – as far as he could remember he'd never seen anyone prettier, even if she was starved and bruised. And after leaving her a few hours before, he wanted to see her again.

…

Newt had barely started eating breakfast when Minho ran to him looking for Nick. "She's awake?" he asked forgetting the food he'd been about to eat as he climbed to his feet.

"Yeah," Minho said nodding urgently. "Find him and tell him to come quick, she got Clint's face. She-bean scratched the shuck outta him," he said almost looking impressed. And he would've been if he hadn't heard her almost inhuman scream when she'd woken to Clint's unfamiliar face. "I'm telling you now, that shank's jacked. Better get back, see if Gally's having trouble holding her down. Find Nick."

Newt watched him lope back to the Homestead hesitating several moments as he forced himself to look for Nick, wanting nothing more than follow after Minho and see the girl for himself. 'She-bean' it was rather fitting for their first girl; she wasn't exactly a Greenbean, she didn't come through the box. But where she came from didn't seem to matter, at least not at the moment; she was awake.

* * *

><p><em>Thank you so so much to everyone who's followed and favorited the story, and to the few who already reviewed - it all really means a lot to me. As you guys can probably tell this is before Thomas came, she's quite a few months before he comes - and Nick was the leader before Chuck was there. That being said, I probably won't get to the explanation of where she comes from for a while, but I hope by next chapter there will be enough subtle hints that it's easy to piece together a lot of it. Anyways, I hope you shuck-faces enjoyed this chapter, thanks for reading it.<em>


	3. even while you sleep

The sight Newt and Nick were met with when they climbed the stairs was Clint and Jeff standing against one wall and Minho against the other – their mouths turned down in unhappy frowns, brows furrowed in confusion, and their eyes staring at her warily – and Gally kneeling by the head of the bed staring up her. The girl herself was curled against the wall with her back to the door, her knees drawn tightly to her chest and her face turned into the wood; as if she was trying to disappear.

Newt couldn't blame her, to wake up in an unknown place surrounded by people just as unfamiliar – he knew exactly what she was feeling, they all did. He'd stood in the doorway for several seconds before he realized she was talking; no one else was saying anything, they weren't even moving, and yet her voice was so hushed it barely registered in his mind that there was a sound.

"72, blue, tree, Eleanor. 72, blue, tree, Eleanor." And on she went, saying the same four words over and over again.

Jeff quietly stepped closer to where Nick and Newt stood. "She's been saying that since she saw Gally. I think she's trying to tell him something."

"That piece of klunk is jacked," Clint said through clenched teeth turning to Nick, exposing the scratches from her nails that ran from his ear to his cheek. "I see why they tied her up."

Newt supposed he should defend her since he'd seen her first with Gally, even Gally had looked up at Clint with dark eyes; but Newt offered no defense. Something was wrong in her head, this wasn't the normal Greenbean entering the Glade – this was almost as bad as the Changing, minus the screaming.

Gally sat on his knees watching her, waiting for what would happen – she was staring so intently at him, he couldn't shake the feeling that she was trying to talk to him. There was something in the four words she kept repeating, an explanation she was trying to get but she couldn't make it leave her head. And so she sat pressed against the wall saying all she could over and over and over again. He should've given up on her, lost the little patience he had if he had any at all; but the moment he'd come in the room to find Clint holding his face and her trembling on the bed he hadn't been able to leave. And then she'd looked at him; her dark eyes so wide and broken, her face so sweet and scared. There was something so familiar in the way she behaved, the flickering of a forgotten memory twitching in his head. And suddenly he had all the patience in the world to sit and wait for her mind to release the words she was desperately trying to tell him.

"72, blue, tree, Eleanor. It was the blue one, I remember it." The sudden change of her words startled them all, leaving them wide eyed grasping at what she'd say next. "They said it was green but it wasn't. They want me to think I'm crazy but I'm not, I'm not crazy. I added the numbers, the picture was a tree, my name's Eleanor, and the color was blue – I know it was."

Gally nodded almost afraid she'd go back to repeating the words if he didn't say something. "Okay Eleanor, it was the blue one," he assured her. He had no grace, he had no kindness; he was a boy turned cruel by his sadness. But he had it then as he said she was right, telling her she wasn't crazy.

It seemed to be all she needed to hear as she sat in silence, her eyes no longer staring at Gally because she'd said what she needed to. Those four words had played on a loop in her head before she'd had her memories wiped, she'd held on to them as if they were the last shreds of her sanity – and somehow they'd stuck even though her memories were gone. She didn't know why they were important, she didn't even know what she was talking about; but the words meant something, they were why she was crazy she just couldn't remember.

Jeff took her stillness as a good sign and stepped toward the bed, hoping to see what state she was in to see about getting her to eat. But even with her back to the boy she seemed to sense someone moving closer to her and she curled tighter into herself pressing closer to the wall.

"One four six one. One four six one. One four six one."

They all sighed at her repeating another set of words, wondering how long it'd take her this time to calm down – if she'd even calmed down before. Minho abandoned his spot on the wall and made for the door. "I told you she was jacked," he told Newt as he passed him.

"Tell Alby to make sure everyone's working, and to keep the noise down," Nick said before Minho left, and then he turned to Newt. "You wanna try talking to her?" he asked seeing Newt's wide eyes. "I don't know what to do with this shank. Maybe you'll help, maybe you won't. All I know is that," he motioned to where she sat on the bed still mumbling numbers, "that's not normal."

"One four six one." People were bad, that's what the numbers meant. There was no memory to tell her why she'd felt a numb panic at the person moving behind her, all she knew was that people meant pain – and somewhere in the numbers was the reason why. "One four six one. One four six one." The blonde boy with the wide nose and the strange eyebrows, she knew his face – she could clearly remember him standing over her asking if she was okay, seeing the concern in his eyes when he knelt down. It was real, she remembered it clearly because it was the last thing she'd seen before the blackness – so she clung to it. "One four six one." Her mind was frantically trying to look for something to hold on to, any piece of driftwood to keep her from drowning. He told her she was right, the color had been blue; he was okay, he wouldn't hurt her. "One four six one." Her eyes darted to the figure that moved around the bed, staring closely at his worried face for any sign he'd hurt her – she scratched the other one, she'd scratch this one too.

Newt watched the recognition flash in her dark eyes as she blinked at him, saw the slight movement in her shoulders as she relaxed just barely – she knew him from yesterday and it quieted her as she sat staring up at him. The moment his eyes met hers he was overcome with the need to keep her safe; she looked so small and scared, so in need of someone to understand her. And that need was staring him in the bloody face. He wanted to sit beside her and tell her it was all okay, that she was safe there because he wouldn't let anything hurt her.

"One four six one," she told him as though he might understand. "There were lines everywhere, I counted them every day. They were important, I don't know why but they were. Where are they? Why are they gone?"

If it'd been another boy talking like this, as jacked as she was on their first day, they might've rolled their eyes and told the shuck-face to slim it. But there was something different about her, it wasn't that she was fragile, it was her mind – it was so clear her hold on reality had slipped. Except now she couldn't remember she was crazy. "Because you left," he answered. He didn't know what to tell her, if she'd even understand; but she'd been looking at him needing something, and so he'd given her the little he could. "You're not there anymore, do you remember?"

She stared up at him with big eyes searching over his face; he was good too. "I walked here," she said softly.

He almost didn't hear her, his ears once again barely recognizing she was making a sound – her voice was small and breathy, as though there wasn't enough of her to make a bigger noise. It startled him when he realized what she'd said, that she had actually answered. "Yes, do you remember anything about it?" he asked wondering if maybe she really did know the way out.

She didn't know what he wanted from her, just that he wanted something. "It was a maze," she answered seeing his mouth twitch as he looked to someone behind her. She looked over her shoulder to see three boys at her back, one she'd scratched the other who'd been in there since she woke, and the third boy she didn't know.

"Hey," Newt said gently, calling her to turn back to him – they'd leave the map for a bit, she still wasn't calm. "Your name's Eleanor?" he asked, and he waited for her to nod before he continued. "My name's Newt," he told her, though what she heard was 'me name's Newt' and it almost made her smile. "That dong's Gally," he said pointing to the boy beside him. "Nick, he's our leader," he said watching her follow his finger to Nick behind her. Newt waited for her to ask leader of what like all the other Greenies, he could see in her confused eyes when she turned back to him that she wanted to, but she didn't say a word and so he continued. "Those two are Jeff and Clint, they're the shanks who took care of you."

She looked behind her to the two boys, looking at the one with the scratches on his face ruefully. "I didn't mean to hurt him," she said looking back to Newt.

He shrugged shaking his head. "It's okay, his shuck face is enough to scare anyone when they wake up," he told her trying to make her smile, but she just sat staring at him as though she wasn't sure if he was real. Or maybe if _she _was real. What he did notice, something that made him smile, was that she uncurled her knees from her chest. She sat with her legs beneath her and her hands folded in her lap; she still hugged the wall though, unwilling to give up the only sense of security she had.

"Are you hungry?"

She turned to the dark skinned boy that stood behind her not knowing if she wanted to say yes; her stomach felt tight and knotted, something she knew was hunger.

Jeff didn't wait for her answer, he was going to make sure she ate something. "Tell Frypan to give you two slices of bread," he said turning to Clint – whose face clearly read, why do I have to leave. Jeff's answer was to look at the scratches on his face. "She doesn't like you."

"You're not feeding her more than that?" Gally demanded, voicing the question everyone but Jeff and Eleanor wanted to know. "Is your head filled with klunk? Look at her she needs food."

With a hard look Jeff gave a curt shake of his head. "She hasn't eaten well in months, too much too soon is gonna hurt her," he told him irritably before turning to Clint. "Two slices of bread," he reminded him before he left. He looked back to the girl to see her sitting with her shoulders against the wood, slowly relaxing even if the lower half of her body was still turned to Gally and Newt. "D'you want some water?" he asked reaching for the cup he'd gotten for her before she woke.

She took the cup he offered not wanting to upset him by refusing; but she didn't know any of them, she didn't know what they wanted from her. For several minutes she sat staring down at the cup almost expecting something to come crawling out of it, not understanding the sudden fear there was something in the water.

The four boys waited for what she'd do, none speaking in case it startled her. Finally she turned to Newt as if she were asking that it was alright, and it was only when he nodded his encouragement that she reluctantly brought the cup to her mouth. They watched entranced as she placed the edge of it between her lips and drank, her slender throat stretching as she swallowed, the shimmer of the water left on her mouth after she lowered the cup. When the tip of her tongue parted her lips to catch the remaining water, the room seemed to tremble.

Eleanor sat holding the cup staring at the bed, feeling their eyes crawling beneath her skin, not knowing why they were looking at her. Clint returning with the bread was a welcomed relief because it broke whatever spell had been on the boys and they quickly looked away ashamed of what they'd been thinking. She took the bread Clint offered, seeing his small smile at her guilty eyes, before she was struck with the overwhelming urge to throw the bread against the wall refusing to eat it. There was no reason why she wanted to do that, no memory to go along with it – her mind didn't remember the extreme paranoia she'd lived under, it only remembered the reaction.

"You can eat it," Newt told her quietly, his face still warm from thoughts of her lips, wishing he knew what she was thinking so he'd know what to say.

But it was Gally who guessed the reason she stared at the food as though it might bite her – every jacked thing she did struck a hidden memory. "Here," he said reaching for a piece of bread before he bit off a piece. "See, it's fine," he told her as he chewed. He handed it back to her and as he'd thought, she took a timid bite.

"Little bites," Jeff said suddenly when she made to take another bite of the bread, startling almost everyone in the room. "And eat slowly," he added. He might've apologized, almost did say sorry, but he didn't want her throwing it up because she ate it too fast.

Nick took advantage of Newt's eyes on someone other than the girl and motioned him over. "You're the only one she's responded to, I want you apart of everything that has to do with her," he said making sure Newt agreed before he talked about whether she was up for going to the map room.

He should've been angry to hear that she was becoming his responsibility, rolled his eyes or groaned in protest – but he nodded wanting the time to get to know her, to see if maybe she wasn't always so jacked. "What about Gally?" he asked, finding his irritableness when he looked back to see him talking quietly to her, knowing she'd attached herself to him as well.

Nick sighed nodding, not any happier the other person was Gally. "I think he'd agree, he's right where he should be keeping her safe," he answered blandly.

…

Gally had watched her eyes follow Newt's sudden movements of standing before she settled back and nibbled on the bread. "You got any questions?" he asked, seeming to be the only one who noticed she was quieter than any Greenie – they already knew her memories were wiped like the rest of them, so it meant she didn't know where she was or what was happening. And yet she hadn't asked a single thing. It was strange.

Though the answer was simple, and quite sad. She turned to him, eyes widened in surprise. "Am I allowed to?"

It was quite a few moments of staring at her feeling sad at having to tell this girl she was able to talk, and it took a few moments more before he could be himself. He sat back and spread his hands. "Ask away," he told her with a smile.

There were so many things she wanted to ask, like what Newt was talking about when he called Gally a dong, or what shuck and shank meant and if they were the same. But she settled with something bigger. "Where are we?"

His smile widened before he stood. "Come here," he said motioning her to the window, watching her look briefly to Newt – who wasn't looking at her – before she crept her way to the window holding the half eaten bread in one hand and the cup in the other. He watched her doe eyes widen further. "We call it the Glade," he told her.

"Those go to the maze," she said pointing at the giant walls surrounding them, too captivated by looking at it all to see the surprise on Gally's face at how lucid she was now. She stood listening as he pointed everything out to her, from the animal pens to the map room to the Tree Grove – it was all very exciting, her mind soaking in the beauty of it after so long trapped inside.

"Do you wanna see it?" Newt waited for her to turn to him and nod, knowing curiosity was probably eating away at her – but she turned with eyes not wide with excitement but fear and frantically shook her head.

Her next words, heavy and almost heartbreaking, told them everything they needed to know. "I'm not allowed to go outside."

* * *

><p><em>You guys are awesome, I can't thank you all enough for reading and reviewing and following and favoriting - it all just makes my day. So now that the initial introduction to Eleanor is done next chapter should have more stuff happening. Also I'm going to say this now, she's not fully sane, and I've never written a crazy person before so feedback would be hugely appreciated.<em>


	4. we will find you

She was nearly sent into another fit as they tried to convince her it was okay to go outside; they'd spoken over each other all at once, and the chorus of their voices drowned her ears in too much noise. But the moment she fell to her knees pressing her hands to her ears they had finally quieted, seeing they were hurting instead of helping.

Newt was nudged forward and he found himself uncomfortable with having the weight of her on his shoulders, what was he supposed to do when she kept mumbling they wouldn't like her going outside, they were going to tie her up. It was sad, pitiful even, but it showed how far she was from sane. He knelt by her seeing her eyes shut tight and her mouth moving over words, her head bowed and her shoulders shaking. "Hey," he said trying to get her attention, though all it got him was the tightening of her shoulders. "Eleanor, hey just slim it okay. You left that place remember? You're not there anymore nothing's gonna happen." His words did little to calm her, instead she told him she shouldn't be there they'd come looking for her and they stick her arm and tie her down, and she just couldn't go outside. _You bloody insane girl_, he thought as he stared down at her not knowing what to do. He couldn't take her by the shoulders and shake her, that he could figure out would make everything much worse; and she wasn't listening enough to believe him when he said everything was okay. So he did what he had before, he spoke to her as if she were calm. "Did Gally tell you about the map room?" he asked, earning himself confused looks from the others. She didn't stop, she didn't move, but he nearly felt that her mind had paused at his words. "We have a map of the whole bloody maze. Minho made it, he was the Asian shank, you remember him?" he asked not expecting an answer, he was talking now just to talk because she finally quieted and stopped shaking.

"He called me a she-bean," she said. "I don't know what that is."

Newt almost smiled when she looked up at him, her hands still holding the sides of her head and her shoulders still drawn in, but she was slowly unwinding. "Yeah, that's him. He made the map and we really want you to see it," he told her watching her eyes widen. He looked up at a hand on his shoulder and saw Nick motioning for him to move.

Nick took his place and looked at her nervous face, feeling the same obligation he did last night to keep her safe. There was something about her that seemed to make them all feel that way; maybe because she was a girl and they were gentler than boys, maybe because she was so small, or the note that asked for her protection, or maybe it was obvious she'd been driven mad. "Why don't you stay here," he offered, taking note of when her body stilled – not realizing he'd been able to feel the fluttering of her panicked mind. "Jeff and Clint will clean you up and they can tell you more about the Glade. And after lunch I'll come back and ask if you again if you wanna see the map. And it's okay if you say no," he added when she shook her head.

Eleanor stared at him finding she was surprised he offered her saying no; she couldn't remember the last time anyone had let her have a say in anything – literally, she couldn't remember. But there was something they wanted from her, she knew that much; Newt said it first, they wanted her to see the map. "The maze is the way out," she said softly earning their surprise.

As far as any of them knew no one had hinted at the importance of her seeing the map of the maze; she might be jacked, but she wasn't stupid. "That's what we've been thinking," Nick told her. "Now that you're here," he left the end for her to finish, looking for another chance at hearing somewhere in her mind was a rational girl.

But she sat for quite a time staring at the floor, her brows furrowed deeply; Newt was a bit disappointed that she hadn't finished the sentence, having hoped there might be something resembling normal in her. Her next words surprised him though, she was smarter than he gave credit. "What if I can't remember it?" she asked, looking first to Nick and then to Newt behind him before her eyes fell once more to the floor as she waited anxiously.

It took everything Nick had to tell her that would be okay, because it wouldn't be. They wanted a way out, they'd been looking for one for a year without luck – they'd even spoken of a plan to lower someone down the Box. Now she was there, proving somewhere in the Maze lay freedom, and the only thing standing in their way was her broken mind. "We'll figure it out when we get there," he told her, which was not the answer she wanted to hear because it meant they were placing all of their hope on her very small shoulders. "Now, Gally and Newt have work to do so I'm gonna need them to leave. Are you okay staying with these sh-," he stopped himself from saying shanks, knowing she didn't understand it, "Jeff and Clint?"

She looked up at Newt before turning to Gally behind her, seeing them both waiting expectantly for her answer. "I'm fine," she told him, it suddenly dawning on her how she must look to them cowering against the wall. She didn't want either Newt or Gally to leave, they were the only people she knew for certain wouldn't hurt her – but she didn't want to be a burden either. The poor mad girl who couldn't be alone, it'd irritate them quickly.

Nick's brows rose at her words, not hearing much conviction in them but the fact that she said it made him think she might be alright. "Good that," he told her before standing and offering her his hand. She stared at it hesitating a moment before she let him pull her to her feet. The boys were all crowded around her, having stepped closer when she'd fell into a fit, and they saw just how small she was – if Gally had been standing in front of her she would've completely disappeared behind his broad shoulders. Nick looked over the top of her head to Gally. "She'd probably wanna bathe in a tub, however long she's here. Can the Builders make her one?"

"A better one than what you made us," Jeff added. "That klunk leaks everywhere." After Gally's agreement the three boys shuffled out, Newt looking back to see her eyes following them morosely, until it was just the Med-jacks and Eleanor. "No one's gonna hurt you," Jeff assured her. "I think Gally would throw whoever tried to the shuckin' Grievers," he said looking to Clint laughing at how true it was.

She didn't know what a Griever was, she didn't know Gally or that he was mean enough to scare the other Gladers from trying anything. So she turned to look out the small window and stared longingly at the bright landscape.

"Do you want a bath?"

She looked down at herself to see the dirt smudged on her legs and clinging to her hands – she hadn't had time to realize how dirty she was. Though her thin dark brows where drawn together when she looked up at Jeff. "I have to go outside to take it, don't I?" she asked him unhappily.

He smiled amused by the look on her face. "It does leak," he told her. "But it wasn't really made for a person to sit in, just to wash clothes and rags when people are sick; you might be small enough though."

…

It took quite a bit of coaxing to get her past the doorway to the stairs. Clint had to point out that she wasn't going anywhere since she was still inside – but she was having trouble letting go of the fear that came when doing what she wasn't supposed to. And it'd been ingrained in her head so deep that breaking the rules was bad, that even without her memories she still couldn't break them.

"It's good everyone's done with breakfast," Clint told Jeff quietly, "she probably would've run back in the room at seeing so many people staring at her."

They were the only three in the Homestead, it was completely silent, and so she heard what he'd said and her mind caught on the word breakfast. "How long have I been here?" she asked, her foot landing on the last step leaving her to look around at all the shabby beds the Builders had made.

"You got here yesterday, slept through the night." Jeff and Clint watched her pick up a fork someone had left and scratch something into the wall. She made two little lines by the doorway, her hand carving as though her muscles had the movement memorized. They watched her mouth something, moving a slender finger from one line to the next, before she stepped back.

"One four six three." She stared at the two lines wondering what they meant, seeing very clearly in her mind hundreds of tallies stretching over a wall – this was something she'd done so often it wasn't even a thought to her. She didn't need memories to know to do this, her body remembered. _But what does it mean?_ "Where's the bath?" she asked turning from the scratches she'd made.

"Right outside," Jeff told her quietly, sharing a look with Clint to see he'd realized what the numbers meant.

She stood in the doorway squinting against the bright light trying to convince her feet to step forward – she wanted to go outside, she wanted it so much she could feel the warmth on her skin. But her feet wouldn't move. Jeff finally gave up and pushed her gently, knowing it might throw her into another fit but he honestly just wanted to see what she'd do.

It was almost funny. She gasped before she lunged back inside and pressed her chest against the wall, looking panic-stricken outside as though someone was going to come for her. Jeff could tell from her deep breaths her heart was racing but she wasn't mumbling any words, just staring wide eyed out the door waiting for something that wasn't going to come. He shook his head when Clint stepped forward, wanting to let her work it out herself. The two boys stood for no less than five minutes watching her inch closer to the door; until finally she quickly skated around the wall and pressed her back against the outside of the Homestead to stand in the sun.

"I didn't think the Greenbean would actually do it," Clint said almost happily.

Jeff was happy too, almost proud that she'd done it. He peeked his head out to see her eyes wide with amazement as she looked all around her, the corners of her mouth turned up sort of smiling – she was almost beautiful.

She turned to him and nearly grinned, though it was nothing more than a twitch of her mouth before her lips were once more straight – she wasn't used to smiling. "I didn't think I could do it," she told him softly. She could still barely believe she'd done it; she was so sure an alarm was going to sound and people were going to rush toward her, her arms trapped in their hands and a sharp prick would pierce her neck. But in a blind rush of determination she'd stepped out, though she hadn't gotten much father than the side of the building.

Jeff returned her smile. "Tub's this way," he said leading her around the building, leaving Clint to find the Bricknicks to get water. The place they'd put the tub was on the side of the Homestead where it faced the maze wall, which was convenient for her because the only people who'd see her out there were him and Clint.

He hadn't been lying when he said it wasn't made for a person to sit in; she might barely fit in it if she sat with her knees to her chest. She crept closer to Jeff when a line of boys suddenly started walking toward them carrying buckets of water; the first time the five boys saw her she was standing behind Jeff peeking around him. They would later comment on her wide brown eyes, her pretty face, her slightly parted lips – it was the look of a startled deer, sweet and endearing. They would then leave and begin the rumors that she was the most beautiful girl who ever existed – and as far as any of the Gladers could remember she was.

She didn't step out from behind Jeff until the last boy disappeared around the building, and then she turned to the already leaking tub. "Eleanor," Jeff said suddenly making her jump as she turned back to him. "You have to take the gown off," he reminded her, having been watching her about to step in still clothed. "And the shoes," he added though he wasn't sure they were shoes, it looked someone had cut the top part of the shoe leaving only the bottom and enough to cover her toes – they were slippers, though neither of them knew it.

It was a moment of looking down at herself before she realized of course she had to take off the dress, she couldn't bathe still wearing clothes. She didn't know why she'd forgotten something so obvious. "Sorry," she said embarrassed, but he brushed it aside not wanting her to worry about it – she'd woken to quite the shock that morning, considering her scars were so deep she still acted on them even if her memories were gone, it amazed him she was still standing.

He took one of the buckets and poured water over her head, wetting her long tangled brown hair. Handing her a bar of soap he continued cleaning her hair, checking the amateur stitches Clint had done, before pulling apart the tangles. "Hey," he said softly when he saw her face. "Why are you crying?"

She brought a hand to her cheek, though it did nothing more than erase the tear with her wet fingers. "I don't know," she told him honestly, having not known she had been, "I just feel sad."

She didn't think it was much of an answer but it was all he needed to know. When he and Clint had convinced her to eat another slice of bread – having to break off small pieces and give them to her to keep her from scarfing it all down at once – they walked to the map room to meet with Nick, Minho, Newt, and Gally. And while she stood beside Newt telling Minho the map was incredible - and it was with the intricate details of every part of the maze they'd explored, making him nearly swell with pride at hearing her praise – Jeff spoke softly to Nick.

"I think I might've figured out why she's so jacked, "he told him. "You remember those numbers she kept repeating?"

Nick nodded. "Four one six, something," he said not remembering the order.

"One four six one," Newt told him quietly, listening to their every word as Minho asked if she recognized anything on the maze.

Jeff nodded. "We told her this was the second day she's been here, and it was like she was in some kind of trance – she carved two lines in the wall. I don't shucking think she knew what she was doing. And then she said, one four six three." He waited for Nick and Newt to turn to him shocked, but Newt only shrugged.

"So she counts the days," he said not understanding why that was stranger than anything else she'd done.

But Jeff shook his head. "Say she was in a hospital, if I'm right then she's been there one thousand four hundred and sixty-one days." The two finally turned to him at the word thousand, finally understanding why those numbers were important. "Me and Clint did the math, it's four shuckin' years. You saw how scared she was of going outside, like someone was gonna come hurt her. When I was washing her hair she cried but she didn't know why."

"Because she was being touched by another person," Nick finished for him, finding he almost felt sick. "So what are you saying?"

With a shrug Jeff sighed, hating what he was about to say because he liked the girl – she was sweet, in a jacked way. "What I'm saying is, don't put too much hope in her memory," he told him, having already given up the little hope he'd had in her knowing the way out; besides of course she'd been hit very hard over her already broken head.

Nick looked to Gally beside him when he felt a rough hand jab his arm. "You gonna do something or are you gonna let him work her into another one of her shuck fits?" he demanded angrily, having already told Minho to back off.

"Listen to me very closely," Minho said enunciating every word as though she were stupid child, "there is no opening there, I've run it almost a hundred times. You are wrong."

And this was where she'd break down and curl herself against the wall and begin saying something crazy, that or she'd cry – she certainly looked like she wanted to with her big eyes full of her hurt and her shoulders shrinking. But she surprised them, for another time that day. "I know I came in on the left, look at my sleeve it was the one that rubbed against the wall as I leaned on it," she said showing him the little holes that had snagged on the rocks. It was logical, it was a lucid well thought out explanation for why her memory was right – however, her mind wasn't reliable and they'd all seen how jacked she could be.

"How many times," he groaned having already told her this twice now, and he'd reached the end of his patience. "There isn't an opening on the left. You go in and you go right, that's the only way. I'm not saying it again, look again or say your jacked head can't remember."

That'd been the end of Gally's patience. As Minho stared angrily at Eleanor's crumbling face Gally stepped around her and shoved him hard into the wall. "She told you what she remembers, that's what you asked," Gally yelled, shoving Minho again when the other boy tried to push him off.

The moment Newt saw her backing toward the wall turning in on herself he was at her side, knowing she was spiraling into another fit. "It's okay," he told her. At the sight of her sad eyes he was left wanting to put an arm around her, an inexplicable feeling because he'd never wanted to do that to anyone before. "Minho's not really mad, he just really wanted a way out."

"I came from the left," she told him pleadingly. "I know I did."

"I know," he agreed even though he knew Minho was right – Newt ran that path himself before his accident, there was no left. But he saw the hope in her eyes that someone was telling her she wasn't wrong – and he was left remembering what Jeff had said, that she'd been held or imprisoned for four years. "He'll calm down in a minute, he's just, could you two bloody slim it," he yelled turning to look at Gally and Minho. "He's a little upset is all," he said when he looked back to her. "Do you wanna go back outside?" he asked hoping to distract her from the still arguing boys. And he barely waited for her answer before herding her out the door. "We'll be by the Gardens," he called back to Jeff.

She didn't know where they were going, didn't know where he was taking her – but she stayed close as she looked around noticing boys stopping and gawking at her. It unsettled her that they stared, open mouthed wide eyed, like she an animal in a zoo; it's how she felt sometimes, trapped behind glass and people kept tapping. She walked with him to the northeastern most end of the Glade, past all the heavy eyes and the not hushed whispers, until they found a quiet corner to sit. He seemed more unhappy than she did, and she didn't know why – she didn't yet understand the want to leave or how much hope he'd placed in her knowing the way out. All she knew was it was her fault.

Newt didn't know how long he sat realizing they'd never get out before he finally looked at her, having tried and failed to convince himself it wasn't her fault. They'd have left by then if she remembered; if she wasn't so bloody insane they could've actually left. Or so he thought, because she was right in her coming in on the left – but the path that was created for her would never open again. "What are you looking at?" he asked when he saw her laying on her back staring intently at the sky. He followed her long thin finger, realizing she had lovely little hands, to where she pointed. "The sun?"

Her hand dropped back to her side, fiddling with the collar of her sweater as she continued trying to look at it. "I forgot what it was called," she said meekly, having realized by then saying things like that were strange.

And just like that his bitterness at her delicate mind was gone; something tightened in his chest at the thought of being locked away so long he couldn't remember the sun, it made him feel sad as he continued looking at her.

"I'm sorry I couldn't help," she said so quietly it sounded like a breath. She couldn't hold his eye for more than a second before she turned away, knowing that was why everyone was upset with her.

He shrugged though he was still unhappy. "It's okay," he told her without meaning it. "We'll get over it."

She rolled on her side facing him, a hand curling beneath her chin as he laid down beside her. "Do you have birds here?" she asked him with the randomness only a mad person could achieve.

"Yes," he answered confused, his brows creasing deeply as he wondered what she was thinking.

It was a moment before she spoke again as she thought of how birds sounded and if she'd ever heard them. "I think I liked them," she told him finally, seeing his confusion deepen on his face as he nodded. A queer smile spread over her lips as she leaned closer, as though to whisper a secret. "Mustard isn't a bird."

There was absolutely nothing he had to say to that. Nothing at all. It was by far the strangest, most jacked thing anyone had ever said to him. And yet he watched her smile grow as she gave a small laugh – a hum of laughter, deep in her throat, still unused to doing things like smiling and laughing, but it was a laugh all the same. And he couldn't help but smile completely enraptured by this mad girl. "You're bloody insane." He shook his head still smiling, not even knowing why he was only that he couldn't make his mouth stop, and looked back to the clear sky. When next he looked back to her she was staring at the sky as well, wide eyes soaking it all in as though it were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

"It's wonderful, isn't it?" she asked him without taking her eyes from the blue of the sky.

He turned to her wishing she'd look at him, wanting to look at her face. "What?"

In her small breath of a voice she answered simply; "everything." And once again, she left him speechless.


	5. acting on your best behavior

For the time being Eleanor stayed with Jeff and Clint in the room at the top of the Homestead. On her second night Nick held a meeting with all of the Gladers, save Jeff who stayed with Eleanor, explaining what they knew so far which was still very little; they didn't know how she got in the Maze or how she found her way to Glade, they didn't know where she came from or what they'd been doing to her only that it left her jacked. He'd had a hard time explaining she needed to be handled gently; if she didn't want to do something then she wouldn't do it, plain and simple. And it wasn't just because she was a girl and they were generally weaker, nor was it just her loose grip on reality.

"So we're supposed to give the shank special treatment?" a voice had cried out unhappily at hearing if she didn't want a job then she wouldn't have one; it was rule one, everyone did their part, she was there it included her.

Nick knew that wouldn't go over well but he honestly didn't think she could be counted on to actually get any work done; regardless of the fact that by the time Newt had brought her back to the Homestead she'd laid down and fell asleep – Jeff said it might be normal considering how little energy she had from food and how much she was spending. But it wouldn't matter to the others, they hadn't seen the grotesque shape of her ribs trying to break out of her skin. "That's not what I'm saying," he told them firmly. "Whoever sent her here asked us to keep her safe. She doesn't remember what that feels likes and she's gonna need all of us to remind her."

Eleanor stood by the window in the Homestead listening to them talking about her, hearing many of them didn't like that a girl was there – she didn't know why her being a she meant something bad was gonna happen, she didn't think she was bad; but then again she didn't know who she was.

Jeff watched as she quietly moved back to the bed and sat with her legs crossed playing with her fingers. That's where she was when the meeting ended and Nick found his way back to the newest Greenbean, Newt trailing after him with the excuse of being the only one who's been able to calm her down when she's worked up. He rapped quietly on the door to let her know they were there before stepping into the room. "Did you eat dinner?"

She sat beneath the orange glow of a lamp making the brown in her hair richer and her skin look tan and warm – there wasn't a single shadow on her face, every line and edge was bare under the light; she looked like a broken angel.

"Jeff said I could move onto corn if I'm still okay after tomorrow," she answered, her soft voice barely tickling the hairs in their ear as they stared mesmerized at her lovely face. She turned to Jeff, who'd gotten over the need to stare, and said; "they're doing it again."

He smiled knowing it made her uncomfortable but also knowing the guys couldn't help it. "You shucks gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come in?" he asked loudly startling them.

The three boys stepped uncomfortably in the room and stood at the foot of the bed. "Eleanor this is Alby, he's my right hand man," Nick said introducing her to the boy at his left. "He's gonna look after you, make sure you're settling and happy. Newt will still come by, so will Gally; but we're gonna let you stay here for a few days so you can rest, you were pretty tired after today."

Her agreement came with a small nod, Jeff having already explained that because she hadn't been eating she didn't have enough energy to make it through a whole day but she'd be better after a week. She didn't like the idea of having to stay in the building, she wanted to go outside and be warmed by the sun – she wanted to be free. And it made her think of what the others had been talking about outside. "Is my being here bad?"

Immediately Newt, Nick, and Jeff erupted into a fit of no's and of course not's, even though they honestly had no idea; but they didn't want her to know they thought it might be, they didn't want to offend her. However Alby hadn't spent most of the day with her being charmed by her sweet madness, Alby had just seen her for the first time, and he paid no thought to sparing her feelings. "We don't know yet," he told her honestly, meeting her wide eyes when she looked at him, feeling the shanks around him glaring at him. "Only boys have been in the Glade, and Greenies only come from the Box."

Newt honestly wanted to slap the back of Alby's dark head for saying that even if it was true; he had no tact for how to comfort people, and she required comfort. And he could see the thoughts swirling in her eyes, seeing her realize they all had questioned whether or not she meant something bad was going to happen.

"Why don't you rest for now and Newt will tell you everything tomorrow," Nick said casting a dark look at Alby, who only shrugged not knowing what the big deal was. He turned to the door when she finally nodded and looked at Newt, "maybe don't tell her about the Grievers, they might scare her," he added before telling Eleanor goodnight and leaving.

Eleanor sat with her hands in her lap thinking they should've been holding something, her fingers aching to feel paper against them, her eyes straining to read words – she felt off. A routine she'd once had now suddenly disrupted, and her body hadn't caught up yet.

Newt watched her stare down at her hands, held together as though she were holding a book, her brows drawn together glumly. "I can st-"

"No," Jeff said before Newt could finish, knowing she'd say yes the moment he offered to stay the night. "Nick told me to tell you and Gally no. You can sleep downstairs with me and Clint if you'd like," he told Newt, knowing he wanted to refuse but wouldn't since Nick had said it – it was written clear on his face as he sighed. "Goodnight Eleanor, I'll see you in the morning. Come on Newt." Jeff stood in the doorway waiting for Newt to follow, watching him watching her before he rolled his eyes and limped past him.

…

Alby almost regretted telling Nick he'd look after their new Greenbean. She didn't do much besides sit in the Homestead with Jeff and Newt, or walked around the Glade with Newt – having to stop several times and rest – or learning more about the Glade from Newt. She took everything in stride, one of the quietest Greenies Alby thought they'd had as she waited for Newt to explain, and she looked at the world around her as though it were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. And all the while Newt walked at her side staring at her as though she were the most beautiful thing he'd seen, a grin quirked on his mouth at everything she said – no matter how jacked it was.

After two days Jeff and Clint decided to give her something other than bread, she'd just about all together given the plate of food back to them – her mind telling her something was in it. Even when someone had taken a bite first to show her it was fine she still couldn't make herself eat it. And it left Alby standing in the kitchen beside Newt as she watched Frypan cook, the only way they'd found that would assure her nothing was put in the food.

"I'll bet you my lunch that shank starved herself," Jeff told him before shaking his head and climbing the stairs again, someone having cut themselves.

Alby looked at his closet friend to see him staring at the girl like a love sick puppy – literally, Bark had found her and once she'd unpeeled herself from Alby's back the dog followed her around wagging his tail waiting for her to pet him. And Alby could only shake his head at seeing Newt wearing the exact same look in his eye. "What are you seein' in that shank?" he asked him while she stood preoccupied by Frypan as she watched him shuck corn from the Gardens.

Newt turned him briefly before his eyes fell back to her small form. That was a loaded question, one he didn't know if he actually had an answer to, or at least one Alby would agree with because he wasn't taken with her yet. "She's strong," he said hearing Alby's derisive snort. "No I bloody mean it," he said turning away and facing his friend. "They tied her to a bed, let her not eat, made her jacked. And she still wakes up thinking life's worth living. I'd be a lying piece of klunk if I said I didn't want that."

Alby sighed at seeing Newt's knitted brows and deep frown, remembering the day he'd had to drag him back to the Glade his leg broken and bleeding – it was still healing. He clapped a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "She's not half bad," he admitted reluctantly; and she wasn't. Sometimes he'd find himself smiling at something she said, at an irritated look she gave Jeff who babied her; he liked her most of the time, he just didn't want to admit it.

Newt's dark mood lifted as a smirk curled his mouth. "Just half mad," he said laughing with Alby, enjoying the moment he felt at peace, before looking back to Eleanor.

"Well look at that," Alby mused at the sight of her standing beside Frypan shucking the corn as he began to cut it off the cob. "Maybe the Greenie could handle a job." The two watched as Frypan turned to them and gave them a thumbs up, having decided the crazy shank was alright when she asked if he needed help.

…

It was something Nick agreed to almost immediately; the others would be happy at seeing her pull her own weight, they'd accept her more if she wasn't being treated specially. But it was Jeff who'd refused. "She still can't even walk around the Glade without needing to rest, give her a few more days let her meet everyone," he said not wanting her to work herself into a fit – she hadn't had one in those two days. She'd come close a few times, too many of the guys talking too loudly to her, the Maze doors startling her when they moved – but Newt had somehow always been there and he'd talk her out of it.

"Every shuck here has hurt himself to see her with the Med-jacks, she's met everyone," Alby told him wanting to give her something to do because she was very obviously bored, as well as wanting to stop having to babysit her.

But Nick had told Jeff and Clint that her health was up to them, if they said no it was no, and so Jeff's foot was down. "You can start her when the supplies come this week," he told them, giving her a few more days to graduate to the food they ate. She was already looking better, her skin not hung so tightly around her ribcage, the color of her skin tanning slightly the longer she stayed in the sun. She was almost okay.

"Good that," Nick agreed, having noticing the improvement to her health – as slight as it was. "When she does, you," he pointed at Newt, "go back to the Gardens, actually work. And she'll start with the Slicers like everyone else."

…

Newt took over for Alby in watching Eleanor, he already stayed with her most of the day and when he wasn't with her she was with Jeff and Alby was outside dealing with something.

Nick had decided it the next day when he'd overheard Ben saying how he'd hurt himself running in the Maze and that she'd been the one to clean his wound and wrap his hand – Jeff had been busy with someone who'd gotten a splinter and Clint was outside washing their rags. Eleanor had seen his hand bleeding and quietly sat beside him and taken his hand in hers. That was all Nick had needed to make the decision. They'd seen her help prepare their food, they heard the story of her fixing them up; he didn't need Alby's bulky shoulders to keep anyone from hurting her, her kindness had done it for her.

They were relatively quiet days, no one else appeared from the maze, no one came for her, nothing upset her. The boys would come see her, one at a time because all at once left her trembling overwhelmed, and they'd talk briefly or sit by her or just look at her before leaving – they just wanted to see her, to tap on the glass of the new exotic animal.

Gally taught her the words they used one night. He'd found her standing by the window at the top of the Homestead staring up at the night sky. "D'you wanna see the stars?" he asked her, earning himself a quick nod before she pulled on her shoes and followed him. She barely hesitated at the threshold any more, daring to step over it and shuck the consequences – it was something Newt said that made her laugh, but it's what she'd needed to hear. And Gally'd said something, called her a Greenie, and she'd asked him what he meant when she wasn't green; and so began his lesson.

"Shank," he said before waiting for her answer.

"That's the good one," she told him. "Shuck's the bad one."

"Slinthead."

She thought for a moment trying to remember what he'd told her. "Is it what you call a stupid person?"

He smiled before nodding, letting her have it. "Close enough. Klunk."

"I'm not saying that one," she told him.

"Why the shuck not?" he asked turning his head to where she sat beside him.

But she shook her head. "I don't want to, it's gross," she said quite matter of fact. "And I'm not saying other one either."

"You mean dong?" he asked teasing, though he wasn't used to doing it and somehow his voice sounded mean to his own ears, belittling.

But she either didn't notice or didn't seem to mind because she said, "that one," before sitting beside on the grass staring up at the sky. They stayed like that for a time, quiet and calm, before her soft voice broke the peace. "You're not nice."

He turned to her surprised at her blatant honesty; it was the same unsubtle tactless way she'd asked Newt why he walked funny, and he'd been offended and angry until he looked at her and realized she had no idea what a limp was because she'd never seen a person with one before. It was an innocent honesty that came with not knowing the consequence if her words. "No I'm not," he said in agreement.

"But you're nice to me," she said turning to him, seeing his fingers playing with the ends of her hair as he sat deep in thought.

"You remind me of someone," he finally admitted before dropping her hair and turning away from her.

She didn't understand why he was upset only that he was, and she found herself at a loss for what to do. "Were they crazy too?"

He could only shrug, not remembering who she reminded him of; and he wondered briefly if maybe it'd been his mother. He was caught off guard by the feeling of Eleanor's head on his shoulder, all she could think to give him, and the sudden warmth that flushed his face and swelled in his eyes. "Get your shuck face off me," he told her, hate laced in every word even though he didn't mean it. But she didn't move, and he didn't make her.

…

The quiet days were shattered when the Box brought up supplies as it did the same time every week. It was the same as always; clothes, food, a few other things; they didn't need much. But they were surprised by clothes that had been folded neatly in the center of the Box; they were made for a small body, a female's body. They were left shocked at realizing that supplies had been sent specifically for Eleanor.


	6. turn your back

The moment the other Gladers got back to work Nick pulled Newt aside. "Where is she," he asked since Newt rarely left her side - he even brought her to the Gardens while he worked, let her sit in the sun or help him harvest, whichever she wanted. There were times when she had in her head the image of a tiny dancer spinning round and round, her arms held over her head, and Newt would stand immobile watching mesmerized as Eleanor spun in slow graceful circles.

That's where she was at that particular time, she'd hummed a song off and on again since breakfast; and she danced by the Gardens after. The Track-hoes had stood as enchanted as Newt as they watched her standing on the tips of her toes dancing in the grass to a memory only she had, her small hands with her slender fingers hung daintily over her head, her long dark hair shining in the sun as it followed her movements. That was where Newt and Nick found her, still dancing, her face turned to the sky, her eyes closed dreamily, and a smile on her mouth.

"How long has she been doing this?" Nick asked, shaking himself of the warm daze he'd fallen into by watching her.

Newt was staring at her utterly fascinated by every turn of her body, not paying Nick any mind until his hand connected with his arm. "What?" he asked having to force his eyes off her to look at Nick, who then had to repeat himself since Newt had forgotten anyone but Eleanor was there. "She started yesterday. Sometimes she goes for five minutes other times she only spins around twice before going back to what she was doing before," Newt answered looking back to her. "Jeff and Clint think her mind gets stuck on one thing, like those words she kept saying over and over, and it repeats in her head until she can get over it."

"Or you talk to her," Nick added seeing Newt's proud smile. He didn't need to ask if Newt had asked her what she was doing, the shank could barely take his eyes off her let alone think. "Eleanor," Nick said stilling her twirling body, watching as her hands fell slowly to her sides. "What were you doing?" he asked her.

She smiled meekly at them, Gally having explained that some of the things she did was weird even for a Greenie and so people stared. "There's a little woman in a pink dress standing in a box," she told him as simply as if she'd said the grass was green.

Except that it didn't make sense, there wasn't a woman in a pink dress and no one was standing in a box. And yet something about it was so familiar, there was an image attached to the thought submerged in a thick fog he couldn't quite see through; but he could just barely make out a small plastic figure spinning in a box.

"It's a ballerina," Newt told him without realizing he had answered what Nick was thinking. "A shank asked what she was doing, she told him the same thing. It's a music box."

Nick nodded seeing it clearly now, the soft pink material lining the wood matching the funny poofy skirt – he couldn't remember who it belonged to, but the box he could now see. "It's a memory," he said realizing the woman was in her mind. "Was it a good one?" he asked looking at her, watching her fingers run along the hem of the gown – she was never still, he'd come to realize that in the week she'd been there, some part of her was always moving. Fluttering about with every heartbeat.

Her brows had knitted as she strained to remember more about the box with the little dancer, she thought it might've been hers. "I don't remember," she admitted.

He could see so clearly on her face she didn't like saying that, no one did but this was different – her eyes flicked to Newt, who stood now blatantly staring at her, before looking to the ground unhappily. Nick could see talking to her would be a problem, she knew she was crazy – at least when she was sane – but there was something about saying it when Newt was there that made her uncomfortable. Whether she didn't want Newt to see she was or whether it was because Newt stared at her so earnestly, Nick didn't know which it was but he turned to Newt and said: "Shuck off. I'll send her after you when I'm done talking to her."

Eleanor stood watching Newt stare unhappily at Nick, his tongue stuck in his cheek as though he wanted to say something; but he didn't, he knew his place. He looked back to her seeing she didn't know what was going on, and he couldn't do anything more than wave before walking away – knowing if he opened his mouth he'd ask if she wanted him to stay, and they all she'd say yes. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked looking to Nick not knowing why he'd told Newt to leave.

"No," he answered motioning for her to sit. "I don't know if anyone told you this, but no one has memories of life before this place. We woke up in the box and it everything was new. I mean, we still knew things it's just. We knew how to do things but we didn't have the memory of doing them; does that make sense?" He honestly didn't know if it did after stumbling aimlessly over an explanation even he didn't understand.

She sat quietly for a moment pulling on the ends of her hair. "You know to climb a tree, you just don't remember ever doing it," she said turning to him.

"Yes, exactly" he told her glad she'd understood because he didn't know if he could explain it any other way. "Was it like that for you when you woke here?"

It was something no one had asked her. Nick had only thought of it when Gally had shown him the clothes, that she might be jacked enough to not know what was real – he didn't think that was true, not when there were times she was very intelligible, but he wouldn't be satisfied until he had her word. And so he waited for several minutes as she sat lost in thought, straining to clear the fog from her mind that was stuck in every corner like spider webs, until finally she answered. "I remember walking in the dark," she said, her voice a faint breath almost lost in the wind. "I was cold and I wanted to lay down but someone had my arms. There were two white faces and blue eyes, I think one was a boy but everything was so blurry. He told me I had to get to the center before the sun went down."

"And then what?" Nick asked before she had a chance to explain. He didn't know why no one had thought to ask what she remembered before, he supposed it was because it was obvious her memories were gone. The sweater she'd been wearing that had been too big for her small shoulders, it was a boy's sweater – she had memories before she'd woken up in the Maze, as faint as they were. "Was there anything else?" he asked when she didn't answer, her only response was a small hand raising to the side of her head that'd been wounded. That was all he'd needed to know before he escorted her to where Newt was, telling them both she was to report to the barn to work with Winston tomorrow after breakfast. Nick next found Gally and told him; "it'd be best to keep this to yourself."

"Good that," Gally said knowing many of the Gladers wouldn't like that her being there was known – they already didn't like that she'd come in from the Maze and couldn't remember the way out. And if she wasn't so lovely and mad they'd probably demand more from her, they probably wouldn't already be starting to accept that she was here. "Do you have any idea what it means?"

Nick had two ideas, neither of which he told anyone but Alby because he was the only who could be trusted knowing it. It meant that whoever designed the place knew she was there, had probably sent her into the Glade themselves. Which meant one of two things; they wanted her to be protected, or they were who she needed protection from.

…

The next morning Eleanor stood by the barn in loose fitting pants and a button up shirt that almost fit her – and would fit her with the more weight she put on – between Newt and Winston as she listened to the many noises that came out of it. There were cows and pigs and chickens and they were all chatting away, surrounding them in a symphony of sound.

"You sure -"

"She's fine," Winston said cutting off Newt before he asked if she was sure she was okay.

Newt looked at Eleanor and shook his head, seeing her wide eyes and the arms she had wrapped around her middle. "If she doesn't want to,"

"She can make up her own mind."

Newt's jaw spasmed as he clenched his teeth in irritation. "I'm guessing Nick came by," he said realizing Winston had been told to ask her after Newt had gone. Given a choice she'd choose Newt, which meant going to the Gardens – her mind fixated on specific things, thoughts or memories or ingrained routines, the same could be said about how she related to people. She knew everyone's name, she knew almost everyone's job, but Gally and Newt were the first two people she had seen after so long imprisoned in solitary and her mind had fixated on them; it didn't matter that she spent more time with Jeff than anyone else, it didn't matter that she could relate more to the newest Newbie, her mind had left her trusting Newt and Gally more than the others. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to," he told her staring firmly into her dark eyes to make sure she was listening. "If it's too much you can come to the Gardens and just sit in the sun, okay?"

She nodded her agreement, afraid the animals would bite or cause a stampede and trample her – it's what she'd thought about Barks when he first ran up to her, she'd just about jumped on Alby's back, but the black lab had done little more than sit and wag his tail waiting for her to come out from behind the boy and pet him. Maybe these animals wouldn't so bad either. "I think I'll be fine," she told him without an ounce of conviction in her voice or her eyes.

A sigh left him as he smiled gently, finding that some times she just amazed him. "Good that," he told her, unable to keep his hand from reaching out to touch her arm – it was the first time he'd touched her since she arrived. She didn't recoil as he thought she would, she didn't even flinch; she only looked down at his hand confirming it was there before turning to Winston.

"Am I gonna have to kill anything?" she asked knowing he was the one who gave the meat to Frypan.

Winston looked down at her with raised brows and a grin quirked on his mouth, seeing she was gonna try whether she wanted to or not – it was quite impressive, considering how meek she was. "I made all the other Greenies do it, but they weren't as pretty as you," he told her before stepping toward the bard. "You ready Greenie?" he asked, not giving her a chance to answer before he left, expecting her to follow.

She turned quickly to Newt. "Was that a yes or no?"

He chuckled at realizing subtext was something she'd never understand. "He won't make you kill anything," he assured her, seeing the slump of her shoulders as she sighed. "Shuck, I almost forgot Minho wanted me to give you this," he said pulling out the wrist band Minho had given him. "For when you sweat," he explained when he saw her confusion. He slipped the band onto her wrist, resisting the urge to let his fingers brush against her own. "He feels bad for yelling at you."

She looked down at the band wondering if it'd been cut from someone's shirt. "Did he find my blood in the Maze?" she asked knowing he'd been waiting for the day that part of the Maze would open again so he could look.

"Yeah," Newt said, his voice suddenly an octave higher – glad that she was oblivious to such things or else she'd know he just lied to her. Minho hadn't found any blood, which was strange considering he'd seen it the day she arrived when he'd returned to the Glade; he didn't know what it meant, only that it was looking more and more possible like she was right.

"Still waiting for the Greenbean," Winston called to them ready to give up and tell her to stay with Newt – the slinthead didn't seem to wanna leave her.

"Am I the Greenbean?" she asked not sure if he meant her or an actual green bean. At Winston's yes she reluctantly stepped away from Newt wondering if he couldn't be a Slicer for the day too; though she didn't ask.

Newt almost smiled at seeing she didn't want him to leave, feeling much happier than he probably should at knowing she didn't. "I can come by for lunch," he offered already knowing her answer.

She'd been half turned when he spoke, and she stood looking at him over her shoulder with the tips of her fingers pressed to her mouth in a nervous habit. "Yeah," she said in a breathy voice. He smiled at her, a happier, warmer, one than any he'd given her before – there were so many thoughts behind that smile, at the swelling of his pride at knowing she enjoyed his being there. She turned back once before entering the barn, Newt still standing where she left him, and she gave him a shy smile before turning wide eyed toward the noise of animals.


	7. on mother nature

_guest: thank you so very much for reviewing my story, it was so kind and thoughtful that I couldn't stop smiling as I read it. I'm so glad you like the way I've written it, and that you don't think she's a Mary Sue - I'm trying hard to keep her away from that. thank you again, I can't thank you enough for taking the time to leave a comment._

* * *

><p>Winston took Eleanor to wash her hands before they got lunch. He'd spent a good part of the morning waiting for her to stop acting like his shadow and finally reach a shaking hand to one of the cow's noses; the result was a laugh half filled with amazement and the other half filled with nervousness when the it's tongue snaked out to taste her fingers. The rest of the time he'd had her feed them and then scoop the dong out of their pens – she hadn't liked the last part, no one did, but she was the only person he'd met who didn't offer a single complaint whether verbal or through her actions.<p>

"How was it?" Newt asked leaving his place in the food line to wait beside her. He'd known the moment she said she'd be fine that she wouldn't be leaving without a good strong effort of trying to stay – it's what he liked about her. She could be as worried as a hen with its chicks, if it was expected that she do something then she would try her best to do it. Even if her mind got lost sometimes along the way.

She looked at Winston before turning to Newt. "It was fine," she told him, though he could tell from the way she'd looked at Winston she wasn't being honest – she was so easy to read.

They shuffled forward in line and Newt looked to the boy behind him. "She was good?"

"It was fine," Winston said using her response. He didn't know which shank coddled her more; Newt or Jeff.

Eleanor took her sandwich from Frypan feeling her tongue wrapping around a word she couldn't remember. "I'm supposed to say something," she said looking at him for the answer.

His mouth may have grinned by his brows had furrowed. "Thank you," he told her watching the recognition ignite in her amber eyes.

"And you say you're welcome," she said, her large eyes rounded further and the corners of her mouth curled with pride at remembering.

Both Frypan and Winston stared with deeply creased brows as they wondered what exactly went on her pretty little head; but Newt stood smiling almost proud himself, staring at her as though she'd said the most remarkable thing.

"She's a weird shank," Frypan said handing Winston his lunch, watching Newt walking with Eleanor to find a place to sit; and Barks following closely at her heels.

"But you like her," Winston finished making Fry nod in agreement. "I hit Barks once, I was moving something. And that shuckin' dog looked so sad I just wanted to pet him. She's a kicked dog," he said, the only explanation he could find why they'd stopped questioning why she was there and instead started planning how they'd keep her safe – playing the hero trying to save the pretty damsel. Only Eleanor had inadvertently chosen her hero, and he limped beside her staring at her like she'd placed the sun in the sky.

When Winston took her back to the slaughterhouse he'd just about had to pull her by the arm; Newt wouldn't leave and she wouldn't leave him. But Gally, who'd become irritated at Newt's constant presence at her side, had called his name taking his eyes from her a few seconds. Winston took advantage of those seconds and told her they should head back, glad when she nodded and followed after him. Though she'd turned back once as they walked to see Newt staring after her; she didn't know why but it made her happy to see his small smile when she waved.

…

Newt made his way to the slaughterhouse ten minutes before the doors would close, planning to take her to wash her hands again before going to wait for dinner and ask her how her day really was. Nothing could've prepared him for the sight of her standing at a counter with blood halfway up her arms scooping out the innards of a pig. He could feel his stomach turning at the sight, his nose drowned in the scent of iron. And yet she stood with a face void of disgust, casually running her hands inside the pig to catch anything she'd missed.

"How are you not bloody gagging?" he asked grimacing.

A short bubble of laughter greeted his ears as she turned to him. "It is bloody," she told him before turning back to the counter.

He shook his head smiling before he turned away at the sight of her bringing down a knife on the pigs legs, not understanding how she was so calm about hacking away at a pig. "Winston didn't make you kill it, did he?" he asked, knowing she hadn't wanted to. But that was something he'd come to know about her; if you asked her to do something she more often than not she'd do it, afraid to make anyone angry.

She shook her head, tossing the legs of the pigs with the others. "He'd already killed it," she answered.

"Does that make it better?" he asked her, honestly surprised Winston hadn't just killed the pig in front of her before asking her to cut it up – it wasn't like Winston had a shucking problem with it, in fact he almost seemed to enjoy his job. Which was good considering no one else did.

Winston had certainly thought so, and once she'd caught her breath she'd moved to stand beside him and did what he'd told her to. She looked at Newt to see his unhappy eyes looking at her hands. "Do you wanna help?"

"No," he told her without missing a beat, earning himself her startled eyes. "So what are you doing?" Winston had been with Frypan and the other cooks giving them the meat for dinner, which meant whatever she was doing wasn't part of it.

That was a good question, one she'd tried to ask Winston. "He said he's gonna try to cure it. And then he laughed when I asked what it was sick with," she told him. Newt couldn't have kept himself from chuckling if he'd wanted to, and she turned to him bewildered. "Why is that funny?" she asked so seriously, her face so confused, that his laughter wouldn't stop.

"I'm sorry," he told her trying to stop, but he couldn't even wipe the smile from his face. "It's not funny," he said. And yet it was because she was staring at him so dumbfounded, her brows creased so deeply – even as he reached a hand to cup her face he couldn't stop smiling. Though the moment he realized he was standing holding her face and stroking her cheek all laughter died on his tongue. There was something so familiar in this gesture, so romantic, as if he'd seen someone doing the very same thing.

She didn't know what he was thinking as he slowly lowered his hand, only that his face was reddening and he was looking at anything but her. She was saved from having to come up with something to say to him, not knowing why he was flustered, when Winston walked into the building to see her staring confused and unsure at a blushing Newt. "It was nice working with you Greenbean," he told her, looking at Newt briefly before stepping around him to take her place.

"Is that it?" she asked not realizing it was already time for dinner – it barely felt like it'd been an hour since lunch.

"Would you like to stay?" He waited for her to tell him no because she hadn't enjoyed anything except feeding the animals, when she stopped being afraid of them – but she refused to tell him no. "Go wash up, maybe this klunk-head will snap out of it," he said jerking his head toward Newt.

Eleanor looked to Newt to see him rubbing absentmindedly at his face, still not looking at her. And so she made for the door, doing as Winston had told her. "It was nice working with you too," she said softly, looking back at him and giving him a small smile – and then she left, leaving Winston looking after her wondering if they'd had any hope of not liking her.

Newt followed her wondering if he was actually thinking of anything that had to do with her, and if he was then he told himself he had to bloody stop – he didn't even know if she was capable of thinking for herself, if she could function without someone telling her what to do. He couldn't possibly expect anything from her. And yet when he finally looked up, unfurrowing his brows, he found that she'd washed her hands and led him to the dinner line where she waited patiently behind Minho.

She turned to him when she noticed his eyes were on her staring curiously at her face; and she still didn't know what to say. And so she said the words that were running through her mind. "We're all mad here," she told him.

He looked at her startled by those specific words; his will crumbling at the sight of her smile, her bottom lip between her teeth, her doe eyes sweet and warm. She was once again stunning him. "It's from a book," he said realizing he knew those words, finally understanding that every time she said something strange like this it was from the book – Mustard wasn't a bird, but flamingoes and mustard both bite. It was another memory, and she was telling him the only way she knew how. Her only answer was a grin as she turned to move forward in the line, taking a plate from one of the cooks before waiting for him to decide where they'd sit. "Minho has something he wants to tell you," Newt said they sat down.

The boy in question looked up with a mouthful of food and glanced at Eleanor unhappily as he chewed. He didn't wanna say anything and he certainly didn't want to say the words sorry – but Newt told him he should, said she deserved it since he didn't know whether she was right or wrong about how she got to the Glade. Minho looked down to see one of half of her bread held in offering to him, her dark eyes waiting patiently for him to take it. She wasn't making him apologize, she was offering her forgiveness. "You're alright, She-bean," he told her taking the bread and eating it.

They ate in relative silence, Minho shoving food in his mouth and Newt sat looking between his food and her face – and she wasn't much of a talker. Occasionally Minho would say something and every time he did he had to repeat himself because Newt had been lost in thought looking at her – he might've made fun of him if Newt would've listened.

"How was working with the Slicers?" Gally asked, a plate in hand, stopping behind the three.

She looked at him and smiled. "It was okay," she told him, seeing his brow twitch hearing the falseness in her easily readable voice. "Are you eating with us?"

Gally hadn't planned on it anymore than Newt and Minho had planned to ask; but looking down at her sweet face he sighed before moving to sit across from her. "So how was it really?" he asked knowing it hadn't been 'okay.'

After a moment of sitting pensively she sighed. "I don't like scooping klunk," she told him honestly.

A surprised laugh escaped at hearing her actually say the word klunk. "I'd say so," he said before bringing his fork to his mouth.

There was nothing peaceful about the silence they fell into, Newt and Minho spoke through glances and Gally sat knowing the two didn't want him there – and they all knew it even more when Alby joined them. The only person who didn't seem to notice was Eleanor who just sat quietly in a warm safety.

After several failed attempts at a conversation Minho finally turned to her. "Do you not see this is awkward?"

She looked at him so taken by surprise he realized she hadn't. "Why is it awkward?" she asked him having thought it was comfortable. Minho looked at her as though she'd told him she was a Griever before looking to Gally.

"She wants me here," Gally said speaking for himself in a bitter tone. "Guess you slintheads will have to get used to it."

Minho held a hand out motioning to Gally. "See?"

She inhaled sharply, not liking that they weren't even giving him a chance. "You haven't even," she started, her voice firm and steady – thickened with her irritation at the injustice; it was the strongest they'd heard her sound and it took them completely by surprise. She turned to Gally flustered with her own emotions too strong in her tired mind. "How was your day?" she asked him, the first to actually ask him that in a while. And he honestly had to take a moment to think of how to respond. When he'd finished telling her she looked next to Alby and listened as he stumbled over an answer – it wasn't a question they were used to, at least they weren't used to looking at someone waiting so earnestly they thought she really cared to know. But that was the way of women, caring, nurturing; Eleanor may have been jacked but there were parts of her who remembered the person she used to be. And the Gladers were quickly realizing that with gentleness came kindness. She was the kindest person they knew, she just went a little mad sometimes.

…

A few days later, when Eleanor was still cycling through jobs trying to find one that fit – she wasn't tried as a Builder, Bagger, or Runner, as a girl she simply wasn't capable – she spent the day with Jeff and Clint as a Med-jack learning how to wrap sprains and cuts and how to deal with splinters, when an alarm suddenly sprang to life and began wailing.

By the time Jeff realized none of them had told Eleanor about the alarm that came with every Greenie, she'd already folded herself into a corner holding her hand over her ears rocking gently back and forth. He knelt beside her to tell her it was okay, to hear what she was mumbling and see if he needed to get Newt or if she'd get calm on her own. But she wasn't saying anything. Her knees were drawn close to her chest and her head rested on them, but her eyes were shut tight and her hands were clenched around her head – her body was rocking. She hadn't done this before, this wasn't one of the fits she was worked into. This was something worse.

…

_She suddenly found herself running down a long white hall, once more wearing the white hospital gown and slippers. There was panic beating into her bloodstream with each stroke of her frantic heart; she was trying to escape this horrible cold place. She rounded a corner to find the sign for a staircase, the way out was the basement, she just had to make it to the end of the hall. _

_An alarm began blaring, booming all around the hall – they knew she'd gotten out of her room. And as close as freedom was it was violently thrown away from her as guards swarmed around her, grabbing her flailing body and holding her down. _

"_Let go of me!" she screamed, trying to kick and thrash her way out of their hold. "Please, I'm not crazy. Just let me go. Please!" _

_A warm fluid was injected into her vein and within seconds time stood still. It was slow at first, she was floating on a cold cloud watching the world slip away, and then all at once unconsciousness took over. _

_She woke to an ache piercing her head, back in the room she'd tried so desperately to escape – the fifty nine scratches on the wall beside the bed. Her attempts to stand were futile as the cuffs around her ankles extended as far as they would, which wasn't even half a foot off the bed. Instinct told her to sit up so she could see what was happening, but her wrists were anchored to the bed as well. She was completely and utterly trapped. _

"_No," she whimpered pulling at the restraints aimlessly, twisting her body trying to find some way to break free. She'd never escape. She'd spend the rest of her life tied down to this bed doing whatever they wanted because she couldn't do anything to stop them with her limbs restrained. _

_Her heart dropped to her stomach when the door was thrust open, and she strained her neck to see the doctor walking toward her – the woman stopped beside the bed and stared down at her disappointed. "Test subject is not immune, administer the Bliss."_


	8. everybody wants to rule the world

_Guest: Chuck is actually coming next chapter. He was the Greenie before Thomas, and she came a few months before all of that. The carving the name on the wall, that was a scene exclusively in the movie, which I haven't seen yet, but I can come back later after watching it and add her carving her name. And the alarm on the box only rings when it's bringing up a new person._

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><p>Newt stood beside Alby watching the Greenie looking around him wildly – it was the same every time. The Box came up with another boy who knew nothing but his name, more often than not was yelling for help, and then they were sometimes left paralyzed when they were pulled out of the box and caught sight of the Glade. With the towering walls of the Maze it looked like a prison, an unfamiliar bleak prison filled with faces they didn't know.<p>

The Greenie, a boy named Tim, had finally caught his breath and was now spewing questions – they all did, and the Gladers stood rolling their eyes and laughing as though they didn't remember their first day and the many questions they'd had.

That's where Newt was when Clint found him, standing beside Alby laughing. He turned to the Med-jack expecting Eleanor to be behind him, maybe a little nervous maybe just fascinated because she'd wanted to see someone come out of the Box after he told her. "Did it scare her?" he asked when he didn't see her, already picturing in his mind her standing by Jeff in the Homestead not wanting to go – the look on her face worried and agitated, her eyes held wide as they always seemed to be whether she was startled or amazed. It was a face he'd come to enjoy seeing, as selfish as it was, because it was the face she made when she needed him.

But Clint shook his head. "We don't know what's wrong with her," he admitted. Seeing her body rocking back and forth as she covered her ears was what he expected, the alarm was loud and it scared all the Greenies – it was when the blaring stopped that had worried him and Jeff because _she_ had stopped.

The laughter left Newt's face when he understood the look on Clint's face was worry. "Is she alright?" Alby asked, his hand on Newt's shoulder keeping him back before he ran off to see her without first asking if she was okay.

Again Clint shook his head. "We're not really sure," was Clint's answer.

Alby's hand dropped from Newt's shoulder knowing nothing he said would keep him there, and sure enough the moment he was released Newt jogged to the Homestead. "Is it another one of her shuck fits?" he asked, having only seen one. The sight of her turned in on herself mumbling the same word over and over and over – he didn't know how Newt could stand being around her, it was almost sad.

"No," Clint told him, already turning to run back to her himself. "We don't know what this is."

Newt knew the moment he saw her something was wrong. He hadn't noticed it before, had never really paid much mind to it, but her body was never still – her hands would fiddle with something, she'd draw circles on the ground with the toe of her shoe, she'd sway slightly back and forth. She was never just still.

But she was completely still then. She sat with her back against the wall and her shoulder pressed into the corner, her arms loosely wrapped around her legs, and her eyes staring hard at a spot on the wall beside her. He could barely see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, the only proof his eyes could find that she was alive was the steady blinking of her eyelids.

"Eleanor," he said gently as he stepped closer to her. He dared moving even closer when she gave no response, until he stood beside her and she still hadn't given any sign of noticing him. "Eleanor," he tried again as he knelt beside her, brushing the hair that hung around her face behind her ear – he even purposefully let the tips of his fingers brush against her skin. He'd felt that touch tighten in his spine and drop in his stomach; he wanted to do it again, to just sit touching her cheek. But she did nothing more than blink. She didn't recoil from him as she normally did when she was having a fit, her mouth was closed uttering no words, her eyes offered no plea of understanding. If it weren't for the severity in her stair he might've questioned if she was even there at all; she was stuck on something so deeply locked in her mind that she had turned in on herself. And there was nothing he could do.

"We got a new Greenie," he told her, looking up once at Jeff and shrugging not knowing what was wrong with her anymore than they did. "His name's Tim. You should've seen his face, his mouth opened and closed like a fish," he told her, trying to distract her as he normally did, to help unstick her mind. "Do you know what a fish is?"

…

_Dark hair and blue eyes on a kind pale face. His hand smoothing her hair back to place something behind her ear. He'd been so kind, so sweet. There was a span of days he came to visit her, had sat beside her on the bed talking to her – reading from the sole book that was often discarded on the bare white floor. She'd been trapped in her mind, her body nothing more than a shell; but she'd listened to his soft voice, felt his hand reaching out to hold hers. She knew he'd been there and that he'd come back, so she waited for him._

…

Newt hoped if he sat long enough talking to her she might finally turn to him and answer. He told her everything there was to say, what the chaos of the Glade had been like before they implemented a leader and rules, how hopeless the Maze was after running it over and over again never coming closer to an exit. He'd even told her about the day when his soul had lost every ounce of its hope, leaned as close as he could to her and whispered in her ear, how he'd climbed one of the walls and jumped off hoping to hit his head and for it all to be over. Only to shatter his leg and still be left alive. And then he told her what no one besides himself knew: that some days it was like that empty hopelessness had never left.

And still she said nothing. He'd almost expected her to say something strange from that book, words that were somehow always appropriate and yet so bloody jacked at the same time. But her eyes didn't even flicker from the spot they watched on the wall. And then Jeff stepped closer and quietly told him it was noon.

"Can you bring a sandwich back?" he asked, looking up to see Jeff shaking his head. "I can't bloody well leave her."

Jeff sighed knowing Newt was worried, shuck it he himself was worried. But it'd been two hours and she hadn't given even the smallest of signs that she was coming out of whatever this was. "Maybe you leaving is the push her mind needs. We all know that shank is glued to your side."

…

Even that did nothing to snap her out of it. She knew Newt was gone, the warmth of his arm was no longer against her side, his accented voice was no longer tickling her ears. She felt his absence like the loss of the sun; all the warmth was gone and she was left suddenly cold and alone. But she couldn't leave, he hadn't come yet. The boy with the blue eyes was going to come like he always did and tell her why he'd taken her from the room and put her in the Maze.

…

Newt regretted leaving the Homestead when Alby immediately was at his side asking about Eleanor, and then Alby promptly left to relay the information to Nick. Someone had found out about her current state and of course now all of the Gladers bloody knew and almost every one of them came up to him to ask about her. The only person his eyes had softened toward, at least slightly, was Gally – because he hadn't been looking for something to tell the shanks waiting, or asking for his own curiosity – Gally asked because he was worried about her too.

He would've been lying if he said he didn't wish Eleanor had fixated on someone besides Gally, but she had and Gally genuinely seemed to care about her in what little way he was capable. "See if you can't take her to the Gardens, she likes sitting in the sun," Gally told him, his brows creased and his mouth frowning – trying to look like he didn't care at all.

It surprised Newt how good of an idea it was because she did love to sit in the sun. As soon as he finished the sandwich he returned to the Homestead to see Clint kneeling in front of her trying to get her to eat. "She just sits with it in her mouth," he said before standing, nearly throwing the plate on the bed as he moved away from her. "She'd been doing so good."

With a nod Newt moved to crouch in front of her, staring hard at her blank face for any sign that she was in there – there wasn't one. He didn't know if she'd let him move her or if her body would suddenly fall limp forcing him to carry her. It didn't matter either way, he was taking her outside because after so long locked up she deserved to feel the sun on her skin again. And so with a hand on either arm he pulled her to her feet. She didn't sit back down, didn't need to be held up – she stayed where he put her and she moved when he moved her. But her eyes stared blankly in front of her; he thought coma meant unconscious but this, whatever was happening inside her mind, had left her somewhere between conscious and unconscious.

One hand on her back and the other wrapped around her arm he led her out of the Homestead and into the bright light of the day. He didn't care that Gladers stopped at the sight of her long dark hair, came up to talk to her only to see her dead eyes and placid face and realize something was wrong with her, went back to their friends to tell them what they'd seen. All Newt cared about was getting her to the place beside the fields that she liked to sit or lay at and stare at the sky. And he sighed disheartened when he sat her down, having to wrap an arm around her small waist as he forced her body to bend, and she still hadn't responded.

There was nothing else he could do but get to work, consistently coming over to check on her, brushing aside the hair the wind had swept into her face, or just running a finger down her cheek sighing unhappily. He didn't know if he'd ever felt so useless as he did then, knowing there was literally nothing he could do for her – she didn't respond to his voice or his touch, or even being outside. And it had only been two weeks since she'd stumbled her way into the Glade half unconscious and bleeding. Yet in those few days he'd grown so used to looking beside him and seeing her pretty face, specifically seeing her wondrous eyes as she breathed in each new day as though it was the first. He even missed the beauty of her madness that rang clear in every strange thing she said, was seen in the way she'd suddenly dance in slow circles, in her breathtaking smile. Or the moments of clarity when she was kind, or she'd look at him and say something so logical, so matter of fact, so _sane_, and they could have a conversation.

He was just worried. Worried for what was happening behind her eyes, worried she wouldn't snap out of this and they'd watch her waste away, worried that when she did come out of herself she'd go back to being the same scared girl who could barely go outside.

The rest of the day he spent with a sick feeling in his stomach waiting anxious and impatient for her to do something; she could scratch him like she had Clint and he wouldn't have cared because it meant she was in there. He left her only once to get dinner and he came back to where she still sat to find Gally sitting beside her staring unhappily at her face. "I haven't tried shaking her," Newt said sitting with a soft thump beside her.

"She's never been this still," Gally said before waving a hand in front of her face, not even making her eyes shut at the sudden close object in her vision. "It's like she's not even in there. She may as well be dead."

Newt looked up at the harshness in his voice to see him turning away. "You don't mean that."

"No I don't shuckin' mean it," Gally spit hatefully as he stalked away.

With a sigh Newt turned to her, smoothing the hair away from her face. "He doesn't mean it," he told her, as though she could hear him. "He's just worried."

He'd spent all but an hour and a half of the day worrying about her, looking over his shoulder as he harvested to see her still sitting where he put her – he was almost exhausted when the sun set and the night wore on. Alby had told Minho to leave him alone, and although Newt wouldn't have minded the distraction he was grateful; Minho wasn't great with worry, he had a way of being irritating in his refusal to show he was upset. And seeing her like this would upset him, she was his jacked she-bean, someone he teased for her naïve gullibility; and he normally left Newt with having to explain to her that Minho hadn't been serious. But she always sat fascinated as he told her about his day.

It left Newt sitting beside the not quite comatose girl staring at the stars wondering when she'd become so important to him. He couldn't imagine going back to the days before she'd come: the days before he had to hold the pieces of her broken mind, before her strange words, before her beautiful face that always made him take a breath at the sight of, before her sweet smile. It's like it'd been dark, and she'd brought the sun.

With a sigh he laid back and furiously ran a hand over his face. It wasn't bad enough that it'd only been two bloody weeks since she'd arrived but she was half mad – and at the moment she sat beside him but she wasn't there. His mind was clouded with thoughts as he fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of her lying in a bed staring at the ceiling unmoving and then she slowly withered away until she disappeared completely.

The next morning when he woke she was still sitting in the same position as when he'd first sat her down; her knees still half bent, her hands by her sides, her eyes staring straight ahead. "Morning Eleanor," he told her as he sat up and ran a hand through his messy hair. He wondered what he was supposed to do with her. If he was supposed to try to get her to eat again, maybe get Frypan to make soup, if he should try talking to her. He just didn't know.

"Morning Newt."

His heart stuttered at the sound of her voice, and he turned to her already telling himself he imagined it.

And then she turned to him, her eyes sad and disappointed. "He didn't come," she told him quietly.

Newt didn't know who she was talking about and he didn't care. He hadn't known relief could be felt like a train slamming into his body, but it left him aching and breathless. Without a thought he wrapped his arms around her and held her against his chest, resting his cheek on the top of her head as he sat holding her as though he wanted to fold her inside him where she'd be safe.

He didn't know how long they sat there; hours, days, eternity. It could've never ended and he would've been just as happy to feel her pressed against him. "I'm glad you didn't die."

It was several moments of sitting with her half on his lap and a small smile on his face before he realized what she'd said – before he realized she'd heard him. He looked down at her sweet face with her doe eyes and her soft mouth that spoke even softer words. "Me too," he whispered, pressing a sudden kiss to her forehead before he tucked her head under his chin. But for the first time in so many months, he actually meant it.


	9. it's my own design

_I'm sorry I didn't post a chapter on Sunday, it was museum day and I didn't really get around to writing a new chapter. Although I guess I'll continue that and say I won't be posting chapters on Sundays. So again, I'm very sorry. To all of my guest reviewers, thank you guys so much for taking the time to review - I don't say it enough to all of my reviewers, but it really means a lot to me to read what you guys think. So thank you, to everyone who reviews and just reads this story. _

* * *

><p>Newt tried to prepare Eleanor for the alarm that would blare again next month, hoping to keep her from going back into that catatonic state. He couldn't stop thinking that if she did lose herself again she wouldn't find her way back.<p>

Zart agreed to let Eleanor work in the Gardens with Newt – he didn't mind her being there, she was a good worker when she worked and she was quiet when she got distracted. One minute she'd be harvesting vegetables or planting them, and then the next she was gone. Often times Newt would look at her, noticing her stillness, and see her staring far out into the universe – her mind a million miles away. Her golden amber eyes stared so fiercely at a single spot that Newt always turned to see what she saw – knowing he would see nothing – and when he'd turn back to her she was working once more. And then there were the few times she would think of that little dancing woman, and her body would remember it as well: hands poised above her head, her face turned to the sky, her body stretched on the tip of her toes as she spun gracefully.

"Who were you waiting for?" he'd asked, wondering if the he she'd been so disappointed hadn't come was the one who'd put the note in the pocket of her sweater asking for her to be kept safe.

"A blue eyed boy," had been her first answer and then she added, "with dark hair and a kind face."

Newt couldn't explain the feeling he got at hearing her say that it was a boy, not a man but a boy, possibly their age. And she'd spent an entire day and night waiting for him so hard her mind had been left paralyzed. There'd been a tightness in Newt's chest, a hand squeezing his heart, and a fist to his gut making him feel sick. And all at the thought of her caring about a boy she couldn't remember the face of.

That was all Newt could get her to say, a meager description of a boy's face but not what had caused it. He knew the alarm had reminded her of the hospital because she'd nodded when he asked, but she didn't tell him anything about it. All she would tell him was; "I'm sick."

"Sick with what?" he asked. The first time he'd been worried maybe she had a disease and they'd all be infected – but Jeff had told him she was completely healthy now, and no one else was acting strange.

After several failed attempts to get her to speak more about the place she'd come from, the place her mind had fallen into when the alarm rang, he stopped asking her about it. Though it'd taken him yelling at her for him to finally stop asking.

"Were you remembering being tied down?" he asked with brutal honest as they sat on their knees plucking carrots out of the ground, wondering if maybe he asked the hard part she'd finally tell him.

She sighed handing him a carrot. "You said you'd stop asking," she told him, her voice a small breath that came when she was uncomfortable.

"I know," he told her gently, hoping to coax an answer out of her. "But I can't help you the next time a Greenie comes if you don't give me something."

She was quiet for several moments, her brows deeply furrowed and her sweet mouth an unhappy frown. "I don't want to talk about it," she finally told him.

"Eleanor," he said exasperated.

"I mean it this time."

For the first time in almost a month he completely lost his patience with her. "If you would just bloody tell me."

"Don't yell at me!"

The strength and volume of her voice was so sudden in the otherwise quiet day, so uncommon because she was normally so docile, that the Gladers who'd been near enough to hear her exclamation all moved to where they could see her. She may have been jacked, she may have been the strangest person they'd ever known, but she was also the sweetest – and above all, she was theirs.

Newt looked around him to see several pairs of eyes staring curiously at the two, most of the boys looking ready to intervene if she was provoked to yell again. "Would you shanks get back to work," he told them, running a hand over his face as the boys reluctantly returned to where they'd been working. The only one who didn't was Zart, as the Keeper of the Track-hoes Nick told him she was his responsibility. And so he stood several feet away with his arms crossed, his eyes weren't aimed at them but his ears were.

Meekly Newt looked at Eleanor's face, knowing she was angry with as she had every right to be. But that wasn't the face she wore. Her hands were picking at the grass and her lips were now pursed almost pouting. He'd upset her and she was the one about to apologize. "I'm sorry," he told her before she even opened her mouth. She looked at him timidly, her eyes wide and her face worried he'd be upset. At the sight of that face, so insecure and shy, his stomach dropped and his heart melted into a quivering pool. Wrapping a hand around the back of her head he pulled her to him, pressing their foreheads together as they sat quietly for a minute. "I'll stop asking," he said even though he wanted the answers. There was a sick curiosity that came with her, of wanting to know what'd happened to make her so jacked – but it wasn't fair to her to ask.

She looked at his face to see his pensive stare; she knew what he wanted to know, she knew the words to give him, but she couldn't make her mouth open and say them – as though something in her mind was keeping her from speaking. "I can't go back to yesterday," she told him, clutching at whatever words her mouth would say.

He raised his eyes to hers once again hearing the familiarity in her words, and realized he'd never been so close to her before – he hadn't noticed the color of her eyes was closer to mahogany, he hadn't noticed the mark on her cheek so small he wanted to run his thumb over it – if he moved even an inch closer the space between their mouths would be nonexistent. "I was a different person then," he said ending the line. A spark ignited in her eyes at him knowing what she was talking about, and it made him smile. Sometimes she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

…

Newt counted the tallies she made on the wall in the Homestead, one five zero six as she told him. He made a guess of around the time the Box would bring up another Greenie, circling the day Tim had come and then counting up until it was nearing a month. He'd gotten Nick's agreement to keep her in the Homestead as much as they could until the alarm sounded, Newt couldn't shake the worry she might get spooked enough to run back into the Maze. Minho of course could see nothing wrong with that, they could follow her in case she went back to where she'd woken up – it'd be their way out. But Newt had refused before Minho even finished speaking; she was led a completely unreachable way to the Glade, Newt argued that a wall might snap shut behind her separating her from the runners and they all knew what'd happen if she didn't make it back before the doors closed.

So she stayed with Jeff and Clint helping them, or using the needle and thread that'd been sent up several times to patch up the Glader's clothes. The boys had been amazed when they'd seen Jeff's once ripped shirt sewn back on, none of them having ever used a needle and thread; and suddenly Eleanor had created a job for herself. She repaired clothes, blankets, socks for the runners. The Gladers were finally seeing their mad girl had a purpose.

And then the alarm rang.

"Eleanor," Newt said kneeling beside her shaking body – he'd been coming to see her when it first started screaming, and he ran to the Homestead to see exactly what it did to her. She violently recoiled from him and tried to fold herself into the wall, the screech of her whimper piercing his heart as he sat down beside her. "It's me, Newt. You know me. I won't hurt you." Nothing he said worked, it only further turned her in on herself – her mind was caught in a time where every touch meant pain, and that pain normally came with being tied to a bed and a needle in her arm injecting her with a drug she didn't want.

Though the moment the alarm stopped her body uncoiled. She was tense and trembling one second and in the next her body completely relaxed and stayed immobile in the positioned she'd stopped in. "Eleanor?" he asked gently, daring to reach out a hand to sweep the curtain of hair that hung in her face. It was the same as the month before; her body was there but she was far away. He could only sigh crestfallen as he sat back wondering how long she'd stay like this that time.

"You wanna see the new Greenie?" Jeff asked after several minutes of watching Newt sit quietly beside her. Newt didn't say a word, he just sat with his shoulder pressed against hers knowing somewhere in her mind she knew he was there.

He shook his head. "I don't wanna leave her."

Jeff sighed and motioned for Clint to go on ahead. "Staying didn't do anything last time, it's not gonna do anything today," he said trying to reason with Newt that he didn't have to stay by her side.

"She knew I was here," Newt said starting on the path to irritation. "She heard what I said. I'm not bloody leaving her." His words were enough to cause Jeff to give up and leave, and he left Newt in a tangible silence beside the girl he hadn't even realized had stolen his heart. "I know you're in there," he said tucking her hair behind her ear. "I won't leave unless you tell me." He stared hard at her tranquil face wishing she'd turn to him, she didn't even have to say anything, he just wanted to see the life in her eyes he hadn't realized had made her beautiful. She was always looking, always learning, always staring in wonder – it was infectious. He hadn't realized how happy he'd been lately, how often he'd smiled. With a sigh he leaned forward and pressed his lips gently to her cheek. "Now if only I could do that when you were here," he said giving a short quiet laugh. Several times he'd thought about it, had turned to her and moved closer, but the moment her bright eyes turned to him he always looked away. But he'd done it then and he knew she'd felt it, and he wondered if somewhere inside her, her heart had clenched as his had.

He sat back and stared at the ceiling wondering what he was supposed to do until tomorrow morning. He wanted to go out and see the new boy, he wanted to join the festivities they had that night to welcome the Greenie. But he didn't. All day he stayed in that room, sitting beside her or helping Jeff and Clint stock their supplies. He would've waited an eternity if it meant being there when she finally came back.

Jeff brought him dinner and took his plate back to Frypan, sighing his displeasure at seeing Newt waiting for a girl who was waiting for someone else. He'd stopped asking Newt to leave her, stopped trying to convince him she wasn't going to just snap out of it because this wasn't one of her normal fits; she wasn't overwhelmed, she wasn't upset, her mind was stuck in a specific time waiting for someone who was important to her. She wouldn't come out of this until she gave up waiting.

…

Newt woke the next morning laying on the floor with his head in Eleanor's lap and her hands running through his hair. She didn't notice when he turned to look up at her, that her fingers were then running along the skin of his cheek. "Did he come?" Newt asked already knowing the answer, but he wanted to hear her voice.

"No," she said finally looking down at him to see his serene face. She smiled gently at the soft look in his eye, at his own hand reaching to touch her cheek. "I love my love with an H, because he is happy," she said rather suddenly.

His brows furrowed as he stared up at her, hearing her little tinkle of laughter, not knowing what that was supposed to mean. But he smiled when she tapped the end of his nose. "Do you wanna meet the bloody new Greenie?" he asked, suddenly finding himself flustered at the thought of kissing the tips of her fingers.

They found the Greenbean, Stan, carving his name on the Maze wall with the others. It was the same as when Tim had first seen her, the same surprised face, the same open mouth, the same questions about how she got there – even Eleanor was the same, her small smile, her sweet voice saying it was nice to meet them. It didn't matter that they would later see she was jacked, that half the time she didn't make sense; that first moment of seeing her kindness was how they'd always see her. It was the same for all of them save Nick, Minho, Jeff, Clint, and Alby – Newt stood alone in his view of her, at least for the moment.

"That's my name," she said running a hand over the letters carved onto the wall.

"Yeah," Newt said moving to stand behind her, his chest nearly pressed against her back seeking her touch. "Gally did it after you looked at the map. The Greenie usually does it after the um, party," he said looking for a word she might understand, "we have to welcome them. But Clint said you probably wouldn't like it." It was true she didn't like to be with the Gladers when they were all together, their loud voices overlapping each other in a symphony of noise – it was too much for her, and it almost always ended with her hands over her ears shaking. Newt watched her fingers trace the last letter of her name before she began his own name beside hers.

She looked at him over her shoulder. "You didn't go," she said realizing he stayed with her. "You should, you like them."

He moved so he stood with his back against the wall beside where her fingers curled around his name. "I like staying with you," he told her not completely dishonest, though not entirely truthful.

And she knew it. He enjoyed being with everyone else, being as loud as them, being as happy and carefree – it wasn't fair he felt obligated to stay with her. "You worry when you're with me."

"I worry when I'm not," he said before he realized how honest those words were, how close they were to saying he cared about her.

She either didn't notice or she pretended not to, like she pretended not to remember the feel of his mouth on her cheek. "But I'm not fun," she told him, seeing the refusal already forming on his tongue. "You should go next time." Without waiting for his answer, which would be a half hearted attempt at saying he didn't mind sitting with her, she turned to the dark skinned boy who'd previously been standing behind them unnoticed. "Make sure he goes," she told Alby taking the shirt he'd been holding. "I'll get this back to you when I fixed it," she said before leaving, not stopping when Newt began calling for her.

Newt turned from Eleanor's shrinking form to look at Alby, confusion written in every line on his face. "What the bloody shuck was that?" he asked not knowing why she was suddenly so adamant about his being with the other Gladers, he'd never even suggested that he wanted to be anywhere else but with her.

Alby shrugged though a small smile sat on his normally grim mouth; it was moments like those, when she showed she was capable of thinking for herself, that Alby understood what Newt saw in her. "I think that was her way of saying she likes you," he answered, knowing it's what Newt needed to hear since Eleanor would probably never say it.

That made Newt pause, and he stood wondering if maybe Alby saw something he didn't – Newt had assumed every thought he had of holding her, or kissing her, was all in his head and completely one sided. "What are you talking about?" he asked unconfident in his hopes, something he wasn't used to being.

Alby gave a short derisive laugh seeing why Minho made fun of him. "You blind klunk-head, do you not see how she looks at you?" Alby asked shaking his head.

Newt nodded though it still hadn't fully sunk in his thick head what Alby was saying. "I should probably talk to her, let her know I'm not upset."

With a sigh and roll of his eyes Alby slapped a hand around Newt's shoulders. "Nick wants to talk about the plan to go down the Box."

That was the same thing Clint told Jeff and Eleanor when he got up to leave, and it stilled her completely as a thought entered her mind.

It was well over an hour before Clint returned, followed by Newt. "Something's up with that shank," Jeff said quietly jerking his head to where Eleanor sat beside two piles of clothes. "She's been quiet since Clint left."

Newt moved the pile of folded clothes on her right and sat beside her, pushing the hair that cloaked her face over her shoulder. "What's going on in your head?" he asked, seeing clearly something was bothering her.

"It's a bad idea," she said as she sewed the toe of a shoe back onto the sole – it wasn't the best fix for the boys who came with holes in their shoes from overwearing, but it's what they had.

He looked at her startled, wondering how much she knew about the plan they'd spent the last hour going over – they'd decided the next time the Box sent up a new Greenie one of them was gonna try going down the hole, and they hadn't quite decided who'd do it yet. "What do you mean?" he asked, seeing in her furrowed brows and her deep frown the thoughts in her head were troubling.

"They're always watching." It was an ominous threat, one Newt couldn't get her to repeat – though she tried, but something in her mind kept her from saying those words again. He was just about to give up on her completely when she turned to him. "It won't be you, will it?"

Newt looked at her worried face and a breath left him at seeing that worry directed at him. "No," he assured her, cupping her face as he smiled gently. It was a blind rush of courage, that's what seeing her worry had given him, and he kissed her cheek chastely – before sitting back and staring at the floor suddenly embarrassed. He chanced a look at her expecting to see her wide shocked eyes, not understanding what or why he'd just done that. But what he saw was her staring intently at the shoe she was repairing biting her lip as she smiled.

…

_One month later_

Eleanor sat on the bed where Jeff had put her, staring intently at the wall across from her, waiting for the boy with the blue eyes that continuously plagued her mind. A small mark by his mouth, dark hair that hung over his forehead, a hand brushing back her hair to place a flower behind her ear, his voice reading to her strange words that echoed in her head and often spilled out of her mouth – she sat remembering all of these things, waiting so raptly with such patience for him to come back.

Newt realized as he stood by the Box with the others as they lowered Nick down on the vine, that somehow Eleanor had been right in her worry – it was a bad idea. Because after lowering Nick only ten feet something swooshed through the air and cut him clean in half.


	10. it's my own remorse

_I realized I said it a lot in this chapter that Eleanor was small, and I know I've said it before in many other chapters - but I don't think I ever said how small she was. For those of you who don't know the actress I'm using to portray Eleanor, Caitlin Stasey, she's 5'1; so to the guys who are like 5'10-5'11, she's quite short. And she's very thin - I mean a gust of wind would just blow her over. Anyways, just thought I'd clarify that a bit in case anyone was wondering._

* * *

><p>No one laughed when the Box finally came up bringing the newest Glader, and it didn't help that it was a twelve year old blubbering Greenbean. No one even wanted to speak to the pudgy boy, the image of Nick's body being pulled out of the hole and taken away still ingrained in their minds – at least the half of Nick's body that had left.<p>

It was well past dinner before Newt returned to where Eleanor still sat. Alby had turned to Newt almost pleading with him to stay; and so Newt had, now in the position of Alby's second in command, and almost all of the bloody Gladers had come up to him asking what would happen now. And so even though Newt knew she wouldn't look at him and say anything, he was still disappointed when he knelt in front of her and she didn't respond. After such a long, endless, day he wanted to just sit beside her and let her comfort him.

She'd noticed one day his mood had taken a dive, something he thought he kept hidden from everyone save Alby who'd always seen through him. But she'd seen it. They'd sat together for lunch and suddenly her hand had come up to his cheek causing him to sigh at the feeling of solace, and the darkness of his mood had lifted.

That's what he wanted then, to feel the soft tips of her fingers tracing his face; a touch that calmed him. And so he laid her back on the bed, and without a thought to the consequences he laid beside her wrapped her in his arms - drawing as much comfort as he could from the feel of her head beneath his chin and her chest pressed against his own. There wasn't much comfort to be taken, she was so still and her lashes constantly fluttered against his neck, but she was warm and she fit curled against him.

"You were right," he whispered in her ear. "It was a bad idea, I should've fought harder with Nick about it. Maybe he," he broke off feeling warmth swell behind his eyes, something he hadn't felt in a long time. But he was so overcome with guilt, at having heard and seen her plea for them not to send anyone down the hole, he let Nick talk him out of his own worry. Now Nick was dead.

He laid with his arms wrapped tight around her narrow shoulders, his face buried in her long soft hair. He was so lost in his own mind that he didn't notice at first the feel of her hands on his back. "It's not your fault," she told him, the breath of her voice tickling his throat.

"I know," he breathed, not knowing if the sudden rush of warmth and emotion in his chest was from feeling her body curling closer or at knowing she'd woken from her daze at hearing his need for her.

She didn't believe him, not in the slightest; her mind was still sluggishly returning to reality and she could still hear the falseness in his voice. "You can't trust my mind."

He nodded. "I know," he said again. "But you were still right." They lay quietly for several minutes as they wondered what life was now that their leader was dead; Newt breathing deeply as he held her, as she held him. "Thank you," he said disrupting the silence. "I know you were waiting for that bloody shank."

It used to confuse her to hear the sudden contempt in his voice when he spoke of the boy that lived in her mind, until Jeff had explained he was jealous. Now she stared at him wondering if he knew he did it, and if he knew how obvious it made him. "I don't think I was okay," she said trying to explain why she was waiting for this boy, but as always she couldn't just seem to come out and say it. "Before I came here," she clarified as she moved to look at him. "I think my mind was really bad."

He sat for a moment wondering what that had to do with what he'd said – Newt usually found himself having to think quietly to understand the way her mind worked. It was like there were pieces missing, and not just in her memory: she knew what he was talking about, a response would form in her mind, but something was missing between her thoughts and what she was able to say. "You want answers from him," he said realizing this whole time all she wanted from this boy was to talk to him, and he almost laughed in relief. "And I here I bloody thought," he stopped before he could finish the sentence, not believing how close he'd come to admitting it out loud.

"I liked someone other than you," she finished for him watching his eyes widen. She smiled as he tried to stumble out some sort of an answer, but he could barely get past how and shuck it all. "I'm crazy, not stupid," she reminded him. "It's okay, you give yourself away when you forget."

"Oh," he exclaimed lamely, caught between a blush and amazement at her smile. "Do you?" he asked suddenly, and without thought because she didn't know what he meant and now he had to explain further. If the sun had been out she would've seen just how red his face was. "Like anyone else?" he finished in an uncomfortable grumble.

Her brows furrowed at his question. "I like Gally," she said, though she knew that wasn't the answer he wanted.

He rolled on his back staring heatedly at the ceiling; she had a way of knotting his stomach that was infuriating and wonderful at the same time. "That is not what I meant and you bloody well know it," he said stubbornly, wanting to hear her say it – needing to hear those words.

She sat up on an elbow resting her chin on her hand and stared down at him with a teasing smile formed on her mouth. "What do I know?" she asked forcing him to answer his own question.

He scoffed not willing to give in; he was normally so calm, so in control of himself. She completely ruined any sense of control he had, and she did it all with the lowering of her lashes. "You know," he made the mistake of looking at her. Even in the dim light from the moon the shape of her face, the tip of her nose, the curve of her mouth, the gleam in her eye, it all made his bloody heart come to a stop. And so he grasped at whatever he could to prove she liked him more than she was saying. "You love your love with an H, because he's happy."

Her brows rose at his recalling two day old strange words. "I hate him with an H, because he's hideous," she said without answer anything. And then she laughed. "And I'm gonna feed you ham sandwiches."

Newt stared up at her so taken off guard by her words that he laid there not knowing what to say. "What's it like in your head?" he asked wishing for a moment he could see the span of her thoughts, and he wondered if they even made sense to her.

She looked down at him suddenly serious. "It's messy," she told him honestly. "My thoughts are strings and they're all tangled together." She sat up on her elbow staring hard at a spot above his shoulder, and then her mind stuck on a thought and she looked at him. "You untangle me."

Shocked was not an adequate word to describe the feelings that swarmed in his bloodstream. Nor was bewildered, amazed, surprised, astonished – none of those words described what he felt. Dazzled. Those three words filled him so full he couldn't see; she'd blinded him. And what made it all the more was the small smile that hid behind the hand that was pressed to her mouth. It was seeing that smile he knew meant she was blushing, that gave him the courage to say what he did. "You're a beautiful mess."

…

Newt stood against the wall the next morning watching Eleanor remove the clothes the runner's had given her to return later when they came back; and then as she sorted the rest of the clothes. "How do you remember who they belong to?" he asked hearing her soft voice saying different names as she folded.

She looked at him over her shoulder and shrugged. "I just do," she answered simply.

It didn't make much sense to him, though there was very little about her that did; it was the same with the number of days – which was one five three six, he'd asked her that morning. He could go an entire week without asking her, then he'd ask and without even pausing to think she gave him the answer. And yet at the sound of an alarm she was left catatonic; sometimes he wondered if there'd ever been a greater mystery than her.

He turned to Jeff. "You can go, I'm gonna walk her to the Gardens."

'Mmhm,' Jeff hummed in disbelief, still able to see the two of them fast asleep on the bed – Newt on his back with an arm wrapped possessively around her waist, and her curled against his side with her head on his chest. "I should separate you two," he threatened, seeing the chagrin in Newt's eyes, but Jeff left them alone.

Newt planned to tell her he wouldn't be working with her in the Gardens, that he probably wouldn't see her until lunch or dinner, but she felt his eyes and turned to look at him – and then she'd smiled and he was struck dumb. His eyes followed her movements, watching the curve of her spine as she bent down – she'd grown into a healthy weight, her hips widening her breasts growing fuller, her stomach stretching to its normal width; though she'd always be small.

Eleanor walked down the stairs with Newt trailing after her, waiting as she carved another small tally on the wall, before she stepped outside. "Well there goes walking you to the bloody Gardens," he mumbled standing against her back. He looked down at her to see her sweet face staring up at him curiously. "Got anything in that head of yours?"

She looked over at the boys who'd taken note of Newt and were walking over, planning to ask him their questions since Alby was giving Chuck a tour. And then she turned back to Newt. "This young lady loves you with an H," she told him, and then she bent closer to him. "The H is for happy."

Newt watched her go with a funny little smile on his face, watching as she stopped some of the Gladers to give them back what they asked her to fix before she continued on toward Alby's dark shape near the animal pens.

Alby almost smiled when he saw her, her armload now a single shirt as she'd passed all of the boys before reaching him. "Chuck, meet our only girl, Eleanor."

The boy's mouth formed an 'o' when he turned from the animals to see her face; regardless of having no memory of another girl Chuck knew this one was the prettiest of them all. She may have been a good five years older than him, a good three inches shorter than him, half as wide as him – but he loved her. And he knew it all at just the sight of her.

Alby bent his mouth to her ear. "I think that's the first time he's shut his shuck mouth," he said nearly laughing at the way Chuck stared at her. He looked down to the see the lone shirt in her hands. "That's not mine," he told her, wearing the shirt she'd fixed days ago.

"It's Nick's," she said so softly he almost didn't hear her. "I didn't know what to do with it." She held the fabric gingerly, as though it might fade away now that its wearer no longer existed. And she was almost reluctant to let it go as Alby reached for it, trying to hold onto to some semblance of normal – as though she knew the end was hurtling toward them with each passing day.

…

It was nearing dinner by the time Newt finally made his way back to Eleanor; he'd caught glimpses of her throughout the day, smiled at her from afar, but he hadn't actually been with her. He didn't even wanna talk to her – though he loved the sound of her voice – he didn't even wanna look at her – though he loved the sight of her warm face – he just wanted to stand near and feel her beating heart beside him.

He stopped though, at the sight of her standing beside Gally; Newt sometimes forgot how small she was, his own shoulders were quiet thin. But the top of her head barely reached Gally's shoulders, and if he wrapped his arms around her she might very well disappear.

"So no one's even gonna talk to him because you think he's annoying?" she asked clarifying all Gally and his friends had told her as they stared at the Greenie.

Gally shrugged unsympathetically. "Shuck-face doesn't know when to slim it," he said, laughing when someone said the boy was lucky they didn't throw him in the Maze. Gally knew she wasn't happy, she never was when he was mean – normally he didn't care, but looking at her kind face always had him feeling ashamed and he hated it. He watched her take a small flower she'd picked out of her shirt pocket before walking to the fat boy who sat alone. And then she did the most remarkable thing; she knelt beside him and placed the little wilting flower on his lap, and then she stood and left. That was it, no words exchanged, not even a look; and yet she left Chuck with a bright smile on his face as he held the stem between his chubby fingers.

She walked to where Newt stood and saw his small smile as he waited for her. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

His smile grew as he shook his head. From her face to her words to the things she did; "you're beautiful."

…

_One month later_

Chuck led the new Greenie, Thomas, to a spot by the Gardens to sleep. "Who's that?" Thomas asked at the sight of a small figure sitting quietly in front of them.

"That's Eleanor," Chuck told him already hearing Thomas' exclamation of what – the new kid had a lot of questions. "I don't know much, like I said I'm just a Newbie. She's the only girl here. They said she was like this every time the Box brought a Greenie, I didn't believe 'em. It's kind of awesome," he said poking her cheek.

Thomas waited for her to yell at him, or turn to him, or do anything more than blink – it was creepy how completely immobile she was. "What's wrong with her?" he asked not wanting to step any closer, half expecting her to suddenly whirl on them and start screaming; kind of like Ben, with his green veins lying on the bed in agony.

Chuck shrugged. "Don't know," he said already knowing she was weird. "She's the nicest shank in the whole world, she just goes a little mad sometimes."

…

Thomas woke to Newt shaking him, or rather Thomas woke and Newt clamped a hand over his mouth before he could yell his surprise; which only made Thomas want to yell more. "Shh, Greenie," Newt told him, seeing the recognition in Thomas' dark eyes, "don't wanna be waking Chuckie, now, do we?"

Thomas nodded and waited for Newt to remove his hand, though he watched the older boy look at the girl sitting just as quietly as she had all night. "Is that normal?" Thomas asked sitting up and looking at her, seeing she was in the same position she'd been in the night before.

Newt sighed shaking his head. "Give me a minute," he told Thomas before moving to where she sat. Thomas strained his ears to hear the other boy's soft words; "Gally was supposed to bring you a bloody blanket, I'll go get you one. Stay out of the Homestead for today, I know Jeff said he could use your help but I don't want you seeing Ben."

Thomas watched him kiss her cheek before he jogged back to the Homestead for something to wrap around her small shoulders. Unable to resist the curiosity Thomas stepped closer to the girl, seeing her for the first time in the faint light of the barely rising sun – she was prettier than she should be, considering she was completely crazy. There was something almost bird-like about her; the sharp features of her face, her narrow shoulders, her jagged elbows, the fact that she was just so small. He knelt in front of her wondering why Newt had talked to her like she could hear him, it was so obvious she wasn't in there.

And so Thomas nearly fell back in complete startlement when she suddenly turned her head to the side – he couldn't help but imagine a small bird with its head tilted as it looked at something. She almost looked confused as she stared at him, a crease just barely formed between her brows. And then she spoke.

"I've been waiting for you."


	11. Help me to decide

It was madness in her mind when the boy knelt in front of her; like a chorus and each person was singing a different line in a song. The shape of his face fit perfectly in the incomplete image that had been haunting her mind, there was the mark by his mouth, his dark hair that hung over his forehead, the feeling of him sitting near her in such quiet. His eyes though, they were brown if not a little green – his eyes were wrong but it was him. "I've been waiting for you."

If his eyes had widened any further they might've fallen right out of his head. She was completely unfamiliar to him, there wasn't a curve of her face that tickled any part of his mind – and yet she stared at him expecting him to say something.

"Did she say something?"

Thomas was on his feet at the sound of Newt's voice. "What, no, she didn't, I don't know her," he stuttered. He'd heard Chuck's gasp the night before at his saying he thought he'd been there before, he didn't think Newt would take kindly to hearing she knew him – he didn't think Newt would take it well at all to know she'd been waiting for him.

"What are you goin' on about, Greenie?" Newt asked him not knowing what his problem was, it never crossing his mind that it was Eleanor. "Chuck said I was gonna throw you in the Slammer if you looked at her, did he?"

"Yeah," Thomas agreed quickly, clutching at anything that wasn't him knowing her. "I didn't think he meant it, I just, I wasn't really,"

Newt rolled his eyes though he grinned at Thomas' worry. "Slim it, you can look at her all you want," he said before crouching beside Eleanor sweeping the blanket around her. "Now if you were the bloody shank she's been waitin' for, that might be a different story."

Thomas felt his throat constrict as he swallowed, looking to the girl who was opening her mouth to speak – his stomach was a bottomless pit as he waited for what Newt would do when she told him. "He doesn't have blue eyes." That wasn't what was she was trying to say, she wanted to say she was wrong about the boy having blue eyes and that it was Thomas.

And Newt, who possibly knew her better than anyone, didn't understand her meaning. "I know, it was just teasing," he said smoothing the hair out of her face, assuming she was telling him that Thomas wasn't the boy because his eyes weren't blue. "Greenie's name is Thomas, I'm gonna show him the Grievers," he whispered in her ear. "You don't have to come, but I do want you to stay away from the Homestead."

"Okay," she agreed reluctantly, knowing Jeff had wanted her there to see if somehow she might be able to soothe Ben through the Changing – he said maybe her soft voice, or even her gentle hands, might be a welcomed relief, and anything was worth a try. But Newt refused, as Jeff had known he would. "Will I see you before dinner?" she asked; there were days sometimes that she didn't see him at all, only before she laid down to sleep did he finally find her.

"If I'm lucky," he grinned.

Thomas stood lamely behind them knowing he should look away, this was obviously not a moment he was invited to be apart of – but he couldn't help himself from staring, at taking in every look that crossed her face to see if something triggered a memory. There was nothing though, there was nothing in his mind that said he knew her. All he saw was the curling of a shy smile, a sight that seemed too beautiful to be caught in this bleak place.

…

Several thoughts had swarmed in Thomas' mind as Alby gave him the tour; namely he wondered about the need he felt to be a Runner, even after Newt had showed him the Griever. His memories, or lack there of, were also thoughts of wonder – he remembered things, like the animals, he just couldn't remember seeing one; which of course he had to have once seen them, he knew them all by name and sound. It wasn't possible for him to have no memory of ever seeing a cow or a pig when they felt familiar to him.

Just like it wasn't possible a strange girl knew him, knew him well enough to wait for him, and for him to have no memory of her. Eleanor was something else that troubled his mind, lurking behind every question he had about the Glade and the Maze; he could go several minutes without once thinking of her, too distracted by what Alby had just said or what Alby wasn't saying, and then suddenly she was in his mind again. Just waiting to be noticed.

And so when Alby left Thomas with Chuck to work with him that day, Thomas turned to the boy and blatantly interrupted his excited words. "Do you think I could talk to Eleanor for a minute?"

Chuck paused opened as he stared at Thomas. "I wasn't serious when I said Newt would put you in the Slammer, but"

"But what?" Thomas asked before giving him a chance to finish.

Chuck's brows were furrowed on his round face. "Everyone kind of just knows she's with Newt, no one tries anything."

That and she's kind of crazy, Thomas wanted to add but didn't – he wondered why since it was true. The way she looked at things, that still almost paralyzed way she'd sat for hours no matter how cold or dark it got; she wasn't sane. And yet he couldn't make himself say it, as though the words were a betrayal, as though he knew she was more than that. _I don't know her,_ Thomas said firmly to himself. "I just wanna see if she'll answer anything," he said not completely lying, hoping it was enough to get Chuck to agree.

But Chuck wasn't stupid and he knew the older boy wanted more than answers from Eleanor. "Just don't do anything stupid," he told Thomas. "Klunk-head," he added, still a new enough Newbie that he hadn't quite grasped using their words.

Thomas walked to where Chuck pointed, seeing her long hair at the Gardens – he'd thought it was brown earlier, but standing in the sun he could see red shimmering amidst the brown strands. It was like her eyes, it was so much more than brown – it was rich and warm. He blinked startled wondering when he'd seen her eyes because at dawn when the sun had barely started peeking its head over the horizon, her eyes had just been dark – there was no color to them.

Thomas stood watching her and Newt talk quietly at the edge of the Gardens, watched her animated face nod at something he was telling her, watched Newt looking at her as though she were the most amazing thing that ever existed. Already Thomas was forgetting the strangeness of that morning, she looked so normal in that moment as she stared up at Newt – her own eyes filled with adoration as she hung on his every word.

It was a surprise when suddenly Newt was in front of him, Thomas having been lost in thought. "You in there, Tommy?" Newt asked him, having already asked twice what he wanted.

"Yeah sorry," he said quickly as he shook himself. "I was just, I wanted to, I-I," Thomas sighed at his inability to speak, again.

With furrowed brows Newt turned from Thomas to look at Eleanor, who was now on her knees planting, and then turned back to the boy. "So you're another Chuck then," he said not knowing what Thomas wanted from her; Chuck had wanted his mother, without remembering who that was, and Eleanor was close as he'd likely get and so he'd practically hung from her hip the first few days. "That shank followed her around more than Barks, wagged his bloody tail too."

"Until she got tired of it," Thomas said having already seen most of the Gladers found Chuck annoying – and he was, completely, but he was also one of the nicest boys.

Newt shook his head as he moved to stand so he could face Thomas and still look at her. "I still don't know if she did, she wouldn't say, but Alby told him knock it off or he'd knock his head off." Newt tore his eyes from where she sat, unhappily because he enjoyed watching her, and looked at Thomas. "Shut your bloody mouth if she doesn't answer," he told the other boy firmly. "Her feathers ruffle easy. It might not've been serious before, but if you upset her one lovin' bit I'll throw your shuck-face in the Slammer for a week."

Thomas watched Newt go now suddenly worried about talking to her, he didn't know if Newt was the only one she was normal with, if Newt was the only one who could keep her calm. But she knew him, and as much as he didn't want to he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he knew her.

At a shadow falling over her Eleanor looked up to see Thomas standing beside her looking very unsure. "You make boy four," she told him, watching his brows crease in confusion. "The day after Tim got here he was trying to make sense of everything, Stan was still trying to believe he might wake up and it all be a dream, Chuck looked like he'd cry any second. What about you?"

It took Thomas a moment, several moments in fact, to understand she was asking how he was doing – no one had asked him that all day. He'd woken up and for a second he thought it could've been a dream and he was warm somewhere that made sense. Then he saw Newt's face and reality had slammed into him harder than a train. She looked at him with her kind pretty face and he could barely remember why knowing her would be a bad thing. "There's nothing to make sense of," he told her as he knelt beside her, finding he had no trouble at all talking to her, as though he spoke to her all the time. "I mean why did they send us here? What do they want from us? I mean what is, what is this?" he motioned to the Glade in a sweeping gesture. "Nothing makes sense."

She sat on her knees staring up at him curiously. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"What?" he asked, his eyes widening at the absurdity of her question. But she just looked at him and raised a brow waiting for some sort of answer. "I don't know, why?"

A small smile curled the corner of her mouth. "I haven't the slightest idea," she told him pleasantly before turning back to the little hole she'd made to plant a seed.

Something twinged in his mind, a small little spark of recognition had gone off at her words. He knew them, it was like a book was in hand and he was reading it – he could very clearly remember the names Alice and the Hatter, but he couldn't remember the name of the book. "I don't know you," he told her.

She looked up at him and he waited for her to insist that he did because she'd waited for him. "No you don't," she said seeing the surprise on his face.

Thomas was left crouched beside her as she began filling in the hole, patting the dirt gently as though she was swaddling a baby. He couldn't remember a single conversation he had before waking up in the Box, but he didn't think he'd ever had a conversation as strange as the one he'd just had with her. She was so odd, so gentle, so thin, he felt the need to shelter her – he felt an obligation protect her, as though he knew something bad had happened. "Why were you sent here?" he asked her, knowing she probably didn't know but he couldn't help but ask. She was the only girl, there was a reason for that, there was a reason she was crazy, and there was a reason she knew him.

And so she told him. She answered all of his questions in one sentence. "You wanted me to be kept safe." If only he had the memories to understand what that meant.

…

It was barely even an hour after she'd returned to the Gardens after lunch when a shadow fell over her; she looked up expecting Thomas again, or Newt, but a surprised smile formed on her mouth at the sight of Gally. "Hey," she said dusting her hands off as she stood.

"Hey," Gally said in return, staring around them with his brows knitted and his face pinched unhappily. "Newt wanted me to see you were alright, wouldn't shut his shuck mouth until I said I'd come over and talk to you. I should probably go back."

Her smile wilted at the sight of his unhappy face, at his eyes continuously leaving her face only to be drawn back to it – he'd wanted to see she was alright too. "What happened?"

He gave an almost bitter smile at hearing her draw a conclusion. "We don't give you enough credit," he said, knowing everyone but Newt looked at her and saw only a sweet mad girl. "Ben attacked the Greenie," he told her bluntly. "I'm surprised you don't know, everyone's talking about that shuck-face."

She knew enough about Gally to know he wasn't talking about Ben with such contempt. "Is Thomas okay?"

Gally didn't care much for the Greenie – something was off about him. He'd heard Ben's mumblings about knowing Thomas, about him being bad. "I should tell Newt to watch out, you've got your eye someone else." It wasn't until he watched the hurt fill every crease of her face that he realized how harsh his words had been – even joking it wasn't funny. And she hadn't done anything to deserve it. He saw her eyes fall to the ground and heard her small, 'okay,' before she sat back on the ground and continued working.

She didn't know why he'd been so cruel, what she'd done to make him so upset – it was obvious to her she'd done something, that's how her mind worked. And it's why Gally didn't leave her like he would anyone else. It was a few minutes before he knelt beside her holding something out for her in his hand.

He watched her take the small flower from him, one of the flowers she often looked at because they were only ones in the Glade, before she looked up at him hesitantly. "You remember the second rule?" he asked her, his voice as deep and thick and unkind as it always was – it was his eyes that were different.

"Never hurt another Glader," she said watching him nod. She looked down at the yellow petals, they made her feel sunny and happy – if joy was a color it'd be yellow. She didn't feel anything close to joy in that moment. "They're gonna kill Ben, aren't they?" she asked as though Gally wasn't apart of that 'they.'

"He'll be banished tomorrow," he said not using her brutal words.

She looked at him sharply, wishing they would just say what they really meant, as ugly and horrible as it was. "They're gonna kill Ben, aren't they?" she asked again. And this time Gally nodded.

…

Thomas lay awake that night staring at the stars wondering if he'd ever sleep again. The image of Ben leaping at him, the boy's face set in lunacy, filled his mind every time he closed his eyes. He could hear the rumbling snores of the Gladers around him, all fast asleep without the image of a murderous boy haunting them. He didn't know how long he laid there attempting sleep, he didn't know how long she'd sat quietly beside him or how she'd moved so quiet he didn't know she was there, he didn't even remember when he'd sat up and wrapped an arm around his knees holding them to his chest. One minute it was like his thoughts were waves crashing deafeningly in his mind trying to drown him, and in the next he was nearly laying on top of her as she ran a hand over his hair.

He didn't have it in him to feel embarrassed at his cheek pressed against her breasts, to even care that a mad girl he couldn't remember was holding him as he tried not to cry. He couldn't do anything but sit in her small arms, taking comfort in the hand that was firmly wrapped around his shoulder, finding peace in the hand that ran across his face, letting his eyes fall closed as he breathed in the smell of her skin – she smelled like the sun, warm and bright. "This is what I did to you," he said suddenly. He couldn't draw to mind the image of him holding her, but he knew it was true.

"Yeah," she whispered remembering very clearly a time when he'd sat beside her with his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders – whispering promises she couldn't remember.

There was more he wanted to say, that he couldn't remember her – that he didn't know her no matter how many times she tried to say he did. But she never once said he knew her; she said she knew him, she said he'd sent her there, but she never said 'you know me.' It was only his head that tried to tell him that. Something in his mind was trying to say: here she is. But his lack of memory and his own stubbornness kept him from hearing that small voice. And the longer he sat warm against her slender body, the easier sleep crept up on him.

She held him until his body grew limp and his breath evened out, wishing she could give him the memories inside her mind. Even then she didn't know him – he'd come to the room she'd been held in, sat beside her day after day for a span of many days, and he'd sent her here. That's all she remembered. She gently lowered him to the ground before pulling a blanket over him and returning to where she'd been lying beside Newt.

The moment she laid down with her back to Newt's chest his eyes opened. He'd woken the moment she'd slipped out of his arms and he had silently watched her move to where Thomas sat, and then he watched opened mouthed at the sight of her pulling the Greenie against her. Newt didn't realize it then, was too green with burning envy to think logically enough to realize this was the boy she spent hours locked in her mind waiting for. All he knew then was that Thomas meant something to her. And Newt didn't bloody like it.

* * *

><p><em>I probably should've said this sooner; there are some things I'm adapting to be more like the movie. Like Teresa coming a few days after Thomas arrived, instead of the next day - and a few other things I won't mention yet. But I'm gonna end it like the book did, and then I continue following the books. This is just a little heads up that I'm changing a few of the details, but the plot is still the same.<em>


	12. help me make the most

She didn't see Newt that day until after dinner, after Ben was forced into the Maze to die – even from inside the Homestead she'd heard his crying pleads. It wasn't the first day she'd gone without seeing Newt until night had fallen, but it was the first day he'd left her in the early hours of the morning without saying a word. He didn't come find her until half the Gladers had laid down to sleep, though he'd spent much of his time talking to Alby and Minho about the two of them going out in the Maze tomorrow.

"Hey," he said quietly as he laid beside her. A sigh of almost relief left him at the feel of her warm shoulder against his, he'd wanted to sit beside her all day and just feel her breathing next to him; but his own stubborn spite had kept him away.

She turned to see him lying on his back with his eyes on the stars above them, his mouth a tight line. "Hey," she said in return as she rolled on her side toward him, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling him relax against her. They laid in silence for quite some time, Eleanor giving him as much comfort as she could and Newt soaked it all in as his troubled mind finally settled. You can tell me why you're mad at me tomorrow, is what she wanted to tell him so that he at least knew she was aware of it – but he'd insist on talking about it then, and she was too warm to want to him to move away from her. So she said nothing, she laid against him feeling his breathing deepen as he drifted into a comfortable sleep.

…

"I'll try to come by the Gardens," he told her as they got ready for breakfast.

She almost smiled at his talking to her, seeing he'd gotten over whatever had been bothering him. But there'd been something in his voice, a look on his face that said more than what his words did.

He watched her brows furrow as she looked around them, as if she could see what he wasn't saying, and it made him smile. "Alby's going with Minho to see the dead Griever."

Now it made sense. "So you're Alby today," she said watching him nod, realizing he wouldn't have time to come by, but he probably would anyways. "What'll you do first?"

"See how the new Greenie's doing," he answered with a sigh, his eyes falling from her face as he turned away from her; though he turned back at the sound of her irritable huff to see her walking away with their folded blanket. That was when he realized she knew why he'd avoided talking to her yesterday; somehow he hadn't thought she would.

She didn't know exactly why Newt was unhappy with her, only that it involved Thomas. What she knew for certain was that she'd felt guilty all day yesterday, and she didn't even know what she did – and she didn't want another day like that. Zart wouldn't either, he'd had to come over several times to ask her what was wrong because she'd stopped working and instead stood staring off into the distance; he'd just about told her to go back to the Homestead, tired of circling the fields to find her not working. She knew he wouldn't hesitate to tell her to take the day off today if he caught her lost in thought too long.

"Hey Chuck," she said sitting beside him at the picnic table with her plate.

He smiled happily around a mouthful of bacon. "Hi."

She smiled at his short answer before he filled with mouth food, knowing his mouth moved a mile a minute when there wasn't something else occupying it – it's why she didn't mind eating with him, while the rest of the time his constant chattering rattled her brain in a way that made her want to run away.

It wasn't long before two long bodies slid on the benches with the two; Thomas watched Eleanor turn to Newt, saw her small smile, saw his hand come up to brush the hair behind her shoulder – every time he saw them together he felt like he was intruding, an unwelcome witness to every look and touch because there were a few seconds when they looked at each other where no one else existed.

Newt had just opened his mouth to say hello when a large group of Gladers got up and ran toward the Door, their loud excited voices echoing around them.

"What's going on?"

Newt looked at Thomas and shrugged. "Just seein' off Minho and Alby – they're going to look at the buggin' dead Greiver," he answered before stuffing a forkful of eggs in his mouth.

"Hey, I've got a question about that," Chuck said looking around Eleanor to Newt sitting on the other side.

Eleanor watched a piece of bacon fly out of Chuck's mouth and land grossly close to her hand. "Yeah, Chuckie, and what's your bloody question?" Newt turned to Eleanor at the feel of her elbow hitting his arm and shrugged unconcerned about his tone.

"Well," Chuck said deep in thought, "they found a dead Griever, right?"

"Yeah," Newt replied blandly, "Thanks for that bit of news." He turned again at her elbow ramming into his arm, sharper and more painful, and her eyes were sterner as well; he raised a shoulder, a smirk curled on his mouth that turned into a grin at the sight of her reluctant smile – he could smirk his way out of anything with her. And they both knew it.

Thomas was stuck looking from Chuck and the two Gladers staring at each other; he found himself wanting someone to look at him like she looked Newt or to even look at someone the way he did her, he wanted to look at someone and wonder what life was like before they were there – Thomas felt like something was missing, like there was supposed to be someone at his side. Before he could think more on the strange feeling that came without a memory, Chuck's voice interrupted all of their thoughts.

"Well," Chuck said finally arriving at what wasn't making sense to him, "then who killed the stupid thing?"

…

Thomas walked to the Gardens with Eleanor, seeing Newt's unhappy brows as he watched them go. "Did I do something?" he asked her concerned; Newt was one of the few Gladers he actually liked.

She raised a shoulder half heartedly. "I'll let you know when he tells me."

Thomas looked at her wondering if she meant to add, 'what I did,' because Thomas already knew it was him and her that got under Newt's skin – but Eleanor either didn't notice she'd left the ending out of her sentence or she didn't know the fundamentals of conversation. "Thanks," he told her unsure what else he was supposed to say. "Am I gonna be working with you today?" he asked almost hoping she'd say yes. She was weird, possibly insane, but she was nice and quiet, and he still had a hundred questions for her.

"No, Zart will probably have you doing the easier stuff," she told him watching his face fall. "He might have you prune a tree, I never get to do that."

Thomas looked down at her, a smile forming on his mouth. "Well you are short," he said, laughing at the look she gave him.

"I could stand on something," she mumbled, though she wasn't at all offended – this felt normal, joking with someone. She wondered, not for the first time, how long it'd been since she'd had a friend.

For the first time since Ben had attacked him two days ago Thomas laughed and actually meant it. He turned to her, a smile on his face, and without a single thought in his head he reached up a hand and brushed her hair behind her ear. Simultaneously they both stilled and stared wide eyed at each other and the same memory exploded behind their eyes:

_Thomas sat beside Eleanor on a cold metal bed frame in an even colder room. Everything was white; the walls, the sheet and pillow, her dress – she was a dark blotch with her brown hair hanging limp off her shoulders falling in her face. Her eyes stared blankly at the marred wall in front of her no matter how many times he tried to talk to her. With a sigh he pulled the hair behind her ear, brushing his knuckles along her cold cheek. _

"Hey Greenie."

They both turned to see Zart walking toward them looking between the two curiously; he wasn't the only one to notice Thomas' interest in her, at least his interest in her more than any of the other Gladers, Gally took note and he didn't like it – there was something in the way she looked at Thomas, as if she was waiting for him to say something.

He stopped in front of them and looked down at Eleanor. "I'm gonna have you planting and pickin', can you handle that today?" he asked not wanting another day like yesterday – he didn't mind her working in the Gardens, she was good there, but he'd never seen her so distracted; she'd barely worked at all.

She nodded quickly. "I'm sorry about yesterday," she said softly. Her voice was so meek Thomas turned to her almost surprised, and he waited for Zart to tell her it was alright and not to worry about it – they couldn't actually expect her to work, she wasn't quite all there.

"Don't let it happen again," he told her, shocking Thomas at his callousness. Zart was one of the few Gladers who didn't look at her as though she might fall apart, the only other boy who gave her expectations to meet was Alby – all jokes aside, even Minho treated her gently – but she did better when she knew something was expected of her. "You'll be with Jeff after lunch, some stuff came with this shank," he nodded toward Thomas, "he wants you to check it out."

"Okay," she said in agreement. "Do you want me to come back after?"

Zart contemplated whether he'd bother with asking her back when she'd only work about another hour. "No I'll let you off for the day."

She gave a small nod, he didn't do that very often and she wasn't entirely sure what she was supposed to do with the free time. "Well if you end up needing help I'll be in the Homestead," she offered.

Zart smiled as he watched her go; any other Glader would have said 'good that' and left it, taking the time off gladly. He looked to the Newbie to see his eyes were following her as well.

Thomas turned to the other boy wondering if he'd get offended by the question, but it was something Thomas now wasn't sure of. "Is she crazy?"

He almost laughed at the Greenie's question knowing he had a lot more to learn about her. "If only she was that simple."

…

Eleanor stood at the top of the tree house watching the crowd of boys by the door; it was the best vantage point besides standing with the rest of them. It was a testament to how much she liked both Minho and Alby that she was even there watching for them – normally she occupied herself until Newt found her and told her what happened. She could see Newt's blonde head standing beside Thomas and Frypan, saw who she thought might be Jeff but she couldn't be sure. A loud deep groaning signaled the door closing, a sound she'd eventually grown used to, though it almost made her jump that day because she hadn't been expecting it – Alby and Minho weren't back, the doors couldn't close yet. But they were. And then she saw Thomas do the most amazing and brave and stupidest thing she thought she'd ever seen; he ran into the Maze.


	13. of freedom

It was hours after the Gladers normally turned in for the night that Newt finally found himself at Eleanor's side; they'd all turned to Newt the moment the doors closed waiting for what he'd say. The rest of the evening Newt had sat hearing the same questions from all of the Gladers, hearing their loud voices talking about what they'd do now that Alby and Minho were dead or asking if Thomas had a shucking death wish running into the Maze like he had – not that it mattered much, he was dead too. Eleanor herself had been occupied with Chuck, who'd practically glued himself to her side and bemoaned Thomas now being dead.

She'd barely said a word, not like Chuck had given her a chance. Thomas had been the only one who had all the answers, whether or not he'd been able to remember, and she'd enjoyed the familiarity of him – he'd felt so normal, he made sense to her. And he was outside of the Glade and the sun was quickly slipping lower in the sky. Even after they all finally settled for the night she'd stayed by Chuck's side running a hand over his mess of curls as he laid glumly beside her.

She left as soon as he fell asleep to find Newt standing outside of the Homestead staring at the stars. "Hey," she said so softly not even she heard it. But he knew she was there, he'd felt her drawing closer like a beacon guiding him to her. In one quick move he turned to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, burying his face in her smooth hair. To everyone else he'd given the same answer, they carry on as they always have; he didn't admit that worry and pain gnawed at his insides relentlessly, that he was straining his ears for a scream from either Minho or Alby – or even from Thomas. As annoying as his persistent questioning was, Newt had liked the Greenie.

He clung to her as though she were a rock and he needed the security as a storm raged around him. At the feel of her hands coming around his back he wilted to the ground still holding her, leaving her body to bend as she sat between his legs against his chest. There were no words to be said. His best friend was dead, her answers were dead with Thomas – there was nothing they could say.

Hours later as dawn was approaching the two were still sitting awake. Newt leaned against the back wall of the Homestead with Eleanor's back against his chest as she drew patterns on his palm with the tip of her finger. It was almost soothing as he sat with her head against his cheek and an arm around her middle, their lungs synchronized so that they breathed the same air. He didn't know what came over him; one minute he was sitting beneath the weight of his thoughts, and then the next his mouth was pressed against her cheek. Suddenly she'd flooded his mind and consumed him, and all he could think about was kissing her.

She turned to look at him after he continued pressing kisses against her skin, and she watched his eyes greedily fall to her mouth – heat pooled in her stomach, leaving her a quivering mess waiting for him to move. She'd caught this look several times before, had waited just like she did then for him to kiss her, only for his mind to change and his eyes quickly fell away from her face. And that was exactly what happened this time, the resolve fled him as he questioned whether she even understood these feelings – if she even felt them.

There was such disappointment in her at the sight of his gaze leaving her face that it entered her bloodstream and flowed into her heart, though what was pumped out wasn't disappointment but longing. In a rush of emotion that threatened to drown her she kissed him, molding her lips against his shocked mouth. As quickly as she'd done it she turned away holding a hand to her mouth; leaving him sitting with his lips parted feeling the loss of her mouth as though she'd ripped his heart out.

He didn't know what to say or how to tell her he wanted her to do it again without sounding so bloody desperate, and he honestly didn't know if she'd let him kiss her. So he wrapped his arms tight around her and pulled her closer, gently kissing her shoulder, not saying anything at all.

They sat for another hour before either one of them spoke. The sound of a few Gladers waking caused to Newt to sigh and pull her closer, not wanting to leave.

"Maybe no one will find us," she said softly feeling his smile against her temple.

"If only," he said, though they both knew he'd spend most of the early morning waiting for the Doors to open on the blind hope that Alby might be there – Minho too if they were lucky, but he was really thinking about Alby. He released his hold on her as she stood, though he quickly reached out and grabbed her hips when she stumbled. "You alright?" he asked climbing to his feet to look at her; her normally warm face was pale.

_No, I'm gonna throw up,_ was what she was thinking but what she said was; "Probably just tired."

Newt nodded excepting the excuse too easily, his own head feeling groggy from lack of sleep. "Find a bed and rest, you look buggin' awful," he said reaching a hand to her cheek.

"Yeah I'll tell Jeff, he can tell Zart if he comes looking for me," she said finding it very hard to stand – it felt like the world had suddenly turned and she was falling.

If his mind hadn't been lost in thoughts of Minho and Alby and Thomas he would've noticed she was lying, he would've seen the look on her face and known she wasn't alright. But he wasn't thinking about her anymore, and he quickly kissed her forehead before walking around the side of the Homestead and out into the Glade.

As soon as he disappeared she nearly fell against the side of the building, placing her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. She didn't know if she was sick or if she'd stood up too fast, or maybe if she really was just tired; but it was several minutes before her stomach stopped clenching and she could breathe normally. For the past few days she'd felt a little dizzy, occasionally having to stop and gain her bearings, but it was never that bad. _Maybe it's stress_. She thought she'd heard that excuse said before, thought it might be fitting then, either way she wanted to lay down.

After making her way into the Homestead, stopping to bid the Gladers that were awake a good morning, before slowly climbing the stairs – holding onto the wall with each step feeling like she might just give up and sit down right there.

"Still not feeling well?" Jeff asked when she finally made it to the top room, taking more note of her pale face than Newt had.

She gave him a strained smile and shook her head. "I just need to lie down," she told him brushing aside his concerns as she made her way to the closest bed. Her head hadn't even settled on the pillow when a Blissful unconsciousness enveloped her, sending her drifting out on a sea of dreamless sleep.

…

Eleanor woke to find herself laying on a different bed in completely different room – and she wondered if there was anything more disorienting than that. There was a moment when she honestly didn't know where she was, before a voice brought her back to reality.

"The She-bean wakes."

She nearly gasped as she turned to Minho lying in a bed beside her. "You're not dead," she exclaimed with a smile.

He smiled at her blunt honesty. "Aw, were you worried about us?" he asked goading her.

But she either didn't notice his teasing or she didn't care in face of her relief. "Of course I was worried about you," she told him seriously.

His smile fell as he was left to sit uncomfortably with her girlish care; anyone else would've joked back or shoved his shoulder. Minho didn't know what to do with someone willingly admitting they'd been worried, admitting that they cared. The sound of footsteps saved him from answering and they both turned to see Newt in the doorway.

"You better?" he asked. He'd come down an hour ago but she'd still been passed out, all three had.

She nodded as she stood; her head wasn't clear, it now throbbed dully beneath her temples, but she could see straight. "I just needed to rest," she said, leaving out the part about having not been sleeping well the past few nights. She looked at the bed across from her to see Thomas sprawled on his back with an arm dangling off the side and light snores rumbling from his nose; it would've made her smile if she hadn't heard the moan above them that caused a pained look to carve itself on Newt's face.

She knew better than to ask how Alby was doing; Newt's answer would be harsh and his voice sharpened to an edge that would hurt her, and then he'd feel guilty about it. "Either of you want me to bring you food?" she asked earning herself a voracious yes from Minho and a small shake of the head from Newt.

Minho watched her walk to the doorway, catching sight of her steadying herself on a bed as she walked pretending to be fine. Unlike Thomas, Minho had no problem intruding on every passing glance between Eleanor and Newt; he watched fascinated as Newt brushed his hand against hers when she passed him by, saw the unadulterated loyalty in her eyes as she looked up at his troubled face.

…

She didn't see Newt for the rest of the day, not that she thought she would – she knew he wouldn't leave Alby's side unless it was absolutely necessary. Her companion for most of the day, or at least the part she hadn't slept through, was Gally who sat beside her unhappily. "You don't like Thomas," she said, though it was so obvious by then it was practically written on his face.

He looked at her wanting to tell her everything he was thinking, knowing she'd be more open to listening to him than Newt – even if she didn't agree with him, she'd listen and at least try to see things as he did. But he knew she probably wouldn't understand, he honestly didn't know how much she understood about the Glade besides the three rules. And so he told her: "something's gonna happen, and it's gonna be that shuck's fault. And don't think I haven't seen the way you look at him, I know you know him."

Eleanor nodded knowing Gally hadn't liked Thomas since what happened with Ben, she also knew that Thomas was somehow connected to the Glade – he had been the one to send her here. "I guess we're gonna find out," she said raising a shoulder.

Gally watched her with furrowed brows, his eyes on her hand waiting for her to stop. "Are you alright?"

She looked at him confused, not knowing why everyone was so adamant about there being something wrong with her. "I'm fine."

His only response was a raised brow as he pointed to the hand that was scratching her arm.

She looked down to see her nails dragging across raw reddened skin, having not even realized she was doing it. "I had an itch," she said unconvincingly.

"For five minutes?"

With a shrug she forced her hand to her lap, her mind reaching for anything else that wasn't her. "What'll happen to Thomas?" she asked knowing that even if he'd helped save Minho and Alby he'd still broken a rule – at how Gally saw it.

With his mind now on the Greenie he turned away from her. "A Gathering will be held after dinner, we'll find out then."

She nodded as though she understood why that was a good thing, knowing Newt wouldn't banish Thomas like Gally was hoping. There was a twitch in her shoulder, a strange crawling sensation beneath her skin, and she reached a hand up to scratch it.

…

Newt went in search of Eleanor after the Gathering wanting to just sit beside her for a minute before he went back to help with Alby. "How was the meeting?" she asked when he sat beside her.

"Bloody awful," he mumbled. He was so tired, so in need of her comfort, that he turned to her without warning and taking her face in his hands he pressed his lips against hers. Nothing was sweet about this kiss, it was needy and careless – all he wanted was the feel of her mouth, her lips warm and soft moving beneath his own. If he had it his way it never would've ended, he would've gone on kissing her til the world ended if it meant he could stay as peaceful as he was.

She looked at him almost confused when he pulled away. "Are these appropriate times to be kissing?"

He laughed shaking his head. "No I don't bloody think so," he admitted realizing in the middle of worry and irritation he probably shouldn't be thinking about her mouth. "But what fun is appropriate?" he asked making her smile; and seeing the curving of her mouth made him want to kiss her all over again. If only he didn't have to go. "He'll be a Runner starting tomorrow, if you were wondering," he said forcing his voice to be emotionless – she'd gone away in a huff the last time he'd made his displeasure of Thomas' interest in her known, he didn't want it to happen again.

"You can stop pretending not to like him, I know you do," she told him hearing his half hearted scoff. "And I'll tell you a secret." She leaned toward and lowered her voice. "This girl loves you with an H."

He stared at her lovely face with her pretty mouth curled in a smile; he couldn't have stopped himself from kissing her if he tried – it was addicting. And he was more than happy to oblige.

…

Eleanor was in the Homestead helping with Alby, who took to her soft voice and small hands, when it happened. It was silent, save the poor boy's occasional whimper, and then suddenly the alarm was blaring. Jeff and Clint looked at each other with eyes widened in confusion as Eleanor huddled in a corner with her hands over her ears – a Greenie was coming up. But Thomas had barely been there a week.


	14. and of pleasure

Jeff turned from Clint's uneasy face, something Jeff himself was feeling at hearing the alarm, and turned to Eleanor. "Let me get her in a bed, then we'll go see what the shuck's going on," he said before kneeling beside her. "Hey," he said gently pulling the hair back from her face. He nearly fell back when she turned to him.

"It hasn't been a month," she said voicing the two Med-jacks concerns. She took Jeff's hand and climbed to her feet, drawing in on herself when his hand came up to feel her forehead.

Four Greenies, four alarms, not once had she gotten up completely fine after it ended. "You're alright?" he asked staring hard at her uncomfortable face.

She didn't know what he was talking about, she felt completely fine – a little shaken from the earth shattering alarm that echoed in her bones, but otherwise she was a-ok. "Yeah," she answered stepping away from him. "So what does it mean?" she asked, picking up the rag that had fallen from her hand and wetting it before placing it over Alby's brow.

Jeff shrugged not knowing anymore than she did. "No shucking idea. You comin' to see the new Greenie?"

Eleanor looked from Alby's unconscious body to Jeff's waiting face. She'd never seen anyone come out of the Box, she'd been too busy waiting for Thomas. She raised a shoulder not sure if that was supposed to be exciting or worrying – because both Jeff and Clint looked anxious.

Which is how Eleanor found herself pressed close to Gally's back unhappily surrounded by all of the Gladers as they stood gathered around the Box waiting restlessly for the Box to open. She waited with bated breath listening to the terrible creaking of the Box as it quickly ascended. Gally looked down at her over his shoulder when he felt her small hands clench around his shirt; she looked nervous and afraid, as though she knew with Thomas being there what naturally came next.

Eleanor stood staring as confused as the other Gladers at the unconscious girl lying at the bottom of the Box, only there was one clear thought that raged in her head; _I know her._ It didn't make sense to her though, she didn't recognize the girl's pale face or long dark hair. But there was something familiar about this girl that had Eleanor's heart stuttering in fear. She barely noticed Newt's grave face as he stood over the girl, barely heard everyone talk at once – some unsettled, some excited, some disbelieving – all Eleanor could do was stare numbly at the pale girl, seeing that face so clearly now beside Thomas' as he urged her to reach the center of the Maze before dark.

And then she opened her eyes.

…

_Eleanor walked down a long corridor with a guard on either side of her, a tranquilizer gun in hand prepared to shoot if she did anything but walk with them. _

_These weren't their normal weapons, she'd seen a guard shoot something that looked like a metal grenade at an unruly 'patient'. It had looked like little streaks of lightning dancing across the man's body as he convulsed; and then a man with a small, almost rodent-like, face stood blocking her view and motioned her into another room._

_The tranquilizer guns they carried were specifically for her; she was a small girl, there wasn't much harm she could do that couldn't be taken care of with a strong sedative. _

_She was led to a room she knew very well, was put in a chair she'd sat in an innumerous amount of times staring a screen that would light up and show her pictures or a video – and then the man she knew as Mr. Janson would ask her a series of questions. _

_The instructions were always the same: "answer to the best of your ability, you will not be punished for answering wrong." And then she'd sit there with the word 'liar' echoing in her mind, though what she said was; "Yes, Mr. Janson."_

_But this day was different, he wasn't the only person in the room. "We have something new for you to try," he told her as though it was exciting. "This young lady designed it especially for you. I cannot stress enough that you will receive no punishment for answering wrong."_

_Your pants are on fire, she wanted to tell him but she didn't dare; the way his eyes would sharpen and his small mouth would press into a thin line, that looked scared her. "Yes, Mr. Janson," she said quietly making him smile. _

_He turned to the girl standing in a corner and motioned her forward. "Why don't you explain it to her."_

_Eleanor sat in her chair waiting as the other person stepped forward; she was young, maybe a year or two younger than Eleanor, and undeniably lovely with her pale skin and dark hair. But what Eleanor would remember most about her, even when she had no memories of this girl, were her blazing blue eyes – so blue they almost hurt. _

_Eleanor would grow to hate this test, she grew to hate it halfway through on that first day. She was shown images on the screen, pictures of places and things, colors, animals, numbers she had to add. And before she told Mr. Janson what she was seeing she first had to list her previous answers in order. This went on for an hour. It would've gone on longer but that was the first mistake she'd made forgetting the order. _

_Mr. Janson had smiled as pleasant as always, until she had a bad day and refused to cooperate. "You did very well, dear."_

_For all the times she'd sat in this chair, the times Mr. Janson had visited her room, she didn't think he'd ever once said her name._

…

So blue they almost hurt. That was the thought Eleanor was thinking as she backed away from the Box, looking around the Glade almost expecting to see the rat-faced man and the guards coming for her.

No one noticed Eleanor when the girl in the Box gasped, "Thomas," before once more falling unconscious. Their eyes were looking curiously and suspiciously at Thomas before back at the girl. No one paid any mind to the mad girl running to the Homestead, not when she pushed past Jeff who'd been behind her, not when she'd released Gally, not as she ran, and not as she skated around the side that faced the Maze wall. No one noticed her, and that was exactly what she wanted.

It was a while before anyone came to find her, well over an hour before she was even thought of. There'd been a note with this girl as well; but instead of asking for her to be protected she warned that the Box wouldn't bring anyone else up. Ever. Needless to say, so much had happened in such a short amount of time that everyone in the Glade was thinking about the girl that'd come from the Box. But eventually Gally had noticed Eleanor wasn't beside him, nor was she with the Med-jacks or Newt who were dealing with the girl, and so he set out to find her – a sinking feeling of dread settling in his gut.

"Hey," he said quietly when he found her sitting against the back wall of the Homestead staring at the grass. She was holding her legs so tightly to her chest, folding herself as small as she could, his eyes almost missed the small shape of her.

She looked up briefly before her eyes fell back to the ground, looking for the blade of grass she'd been staring at. With a sigh Gally moved to sit beside her knowing she was lost in troubled thoughts; absentmindedly scratching at her arms. He knew waiting for her to speak would lead nowhere, she wouldn't talk until she was spoken to, at least not when she was like this.

And so he asked her what he wanted to know: "what are you thinking?"

"I don't want her here," Eleanor said, giving him the thought that echoed the loudest in her mind. What she didn't say was that bad things were gonna happen because that girl was here, which was what Gally was thinking.

He nodded not wanting the girl there anymore than Eleanor did; things were changing, the order they'd fought so hard to achieve was slowly unraveling. He turned to Eleanor wondering what was really on her mind – he knew she recognized Thomas, and if her behavior was any indication then she recognized the newest Glader as well. Her arms were wrapped around her as though for protection, and her nails dragged over the same spot on her arm over and over and over again; he didn't know what her skin looked like beneath her sleeve.

Without anything else to say to her, having only wanted the confirmation that Eleanor – their first girl, the one who'd come from the Maze – knew both the Newbies, he stood and made to leave her. He nearly ran into Thomas as he rounded the side of the Homestead. "She's not up for talking," Gally warned him.

Thomas watched the bigger boy walk away, wondering what he was talking about; though his answer came when he looked around the side of the building to see Eleanor still staring at a single piece of grass. "You know her," he said softly when he knelt beside her, not wanting to be overheard – everyone was already on edge with the girl knowing his name and the note she'd come with. Eleanor looked up at him confused and Thomas realized that she was very pretty, but she wasn't beautiful. The girl that'd come up, the one he looked at and felt a strange connection to, that girl was beautiful – with her skin white as pearls, her eyes as blue as the sky, her dark hair. He thought Eleanor looked rather plain in comparison; her lips were thin, her nose short, her body small and bony. He supposed it wasn't fair to compare them, but he found that he couldn't rid his mind of the lovely raven-haired girl lying unconscious on a bed and whether or not he actually did know her.

"Don't you?" she asked instead of answering him.

He didn't like her question, he already didn't like that she knew him – now there was another girl who knew his name that he thought he might know. He didn't wanna know either of them. "I don't know," he said finally, looking back to Eleanor to see she'd turned back to the grass. He continued watching her wondering what was wrong; something was bothering her, he could tell from the still way in which she sat focused on one blade of grass, he could tell from the way her nails picked at her skin – this all felt familiar to him. "Are you okay?" he asked running a hand over her hair. It hadn't been a thought to him, it was a reaction to seeing her frail mind – his mind didn't remember her, but his body still did. And he quickly pulled his hand back as though he could erase the familiarity.

But she'd felt it too, his kind touch – the only kindness she'd known in that place – and she turned to him with wide eyes full of tears. "He's gonna be mad," she told him, her voice trembling with worry. "He gets mad when I'm like this, he's says it's cause I'm sick."

Thomas looked at her desperate eyes unsure of what to do; wishing Newt or even Gally were here because he couldn't remember seeing such craze in her eyes. "Who are you talking about?" he asked her, hoping if she told him something he could find a way to calm her down. But she shook her head and turned away, rubbing a hand roughly over her face. "Eleanor you're gonna hurt yourself," he said reaching for the hand that was kneading her skin.

She flinched at the feel of someone's flesh touching hers, at the feeling of his heat transferring to her; it felt dirty. Something was wrong with her. There was a buzzing drowning her ears making her want to pull her hair out, it was so loud she could feel it in her skin. It was fear, unadulterated fear. The man was watching her, always watching her for any signs she was going crazy – of course she'd already gone crazy, but she'd still had days of lucidness where he would talk to her. He was doing this. He put something in her head, and that girl let him; she'd been there when he'd done it.

"I want Newt," she said suddenly turning to Thomas almost wildly.

Thomas quickly nodded. "Okay, he's probably still talking to the Med-jacks. I'll go get him right now," he said standing, glad to be able to pass her off on someone else because he didn't like seeing her completely unraveled. She'd been so kind only a few days before, strange yes but she'd asked how he was doing, she'd held him after Ben attacked him. He didn't like seeing how truly jacked she was.

He blatantly interrupted Jeff and Newt when he climbed the stairs to see them talking quietly outside of a door. "Eleanor um, she needs you."

Newt stared at Thomas confused, realizing he had no idea where she was. "Shuck it, I forgot to tell you," Jeff said stealing Newt's eyes away from Thomas. "She didn't do that thing this time; the alarm stopped and she was fine."

Newt nodded realizing of course she was, Thomas was there she wasn't waiting for him anymore. "Can it wait?" he asked, still having to discuss what to do with the girl unconscious in the room they were outside of. But Thomas shook his head. It'd been so long since Eleanor's mind had snapped, Newt had forgotten to worry. "I'm comin' back when I'm done," he told Jeff before following Thomas down the stairs and out the door. "She's having a bloody fit, isn't she?" he asked, feeling guilty for wanting to send Gally to deal with it – with having to be the leader since Alby still wasn't well, a shucking girl of all things coming with an ominous note – he didn't have time for Eleanor. As horrible as he felt for thinking it, as much of a betrayal as it felt, he just didn't have time.

Thomas didn't know whether to answer yes or no, he'd never seen one of her fits, he didn't know what was wrong with her. "She asked for you," he offered with a shrug.

Those four words stilled Newt's feet as he turned to Thomas; the mask of a leader was gone, instead he wore the face of someone now concerned for the person he cared about. "She asked for me, specifically?" Newt asked waiting for Thomas to nod – that was new. "Where is she?" He followed Thomas to the side of the Homestead to see Eleanor sitting exactly where Thomas had left her, her eyes staring up at a gleam of silver on the wall. "Alright," Newt said turning back to Thomas. "The girl. I want you to look at her til your eyes bleed, see if something gets triggered in that shuck brain of yours." Newt waited for Thomas to agree before slapping him on the shoulder.

Eleanor sat staring at what Newt had told her was a Beetle Blade; she hadn't noticed many of them, though unless it was staring her in the face she tended to overlook a lot of things. She felt him draw near, like a string was attached to her lungs; it'd been pulled tight the further away he was, leaving her unable to breathe, but Newt knelt beside her and she gladly breathed in his comfort. She folded herself against him, her hand lying flat on his chest, the buzzing that'd been driving her insane finally dying out. It was a sigh of relief when his arms came around her shoulders, her tense body finally relaxing against him as her mind calmed.

He hadn't realized how much he'd just wanted to hold her, not until she was pressed against him and he was relaxing himself. She made him feel needed, she made him feel needy – she was an anchor keeping him from drifting out to sea. Pressing a kiss to her cheek he pulled her closer, settling with his back against the Homestead and her against his chest. She made him feel like everything would be okay.


	15. nothing ever lasts forever

In the end Newt didn't stay but eight minutes; eight short minutes of comfort and peace that ended sooner than either of them wanted. But Clint came saying that Alby was awake and wanted Thomas; at Alby's name Newt stood, still holding Eleanor.

"You go, make sure he's okay," she told him.

He stared at her almost amazed; she was clearly not fine, something was bothering her relentlessly. Yet there she was holding it together knowing he wouldn't leave to see his best friend if she still needed him. "Good that," he said softly. He couldn't have stopped himself if he wanted to, not that he even thought of stopping himself.

She was surprised by his hand wrapping around the back of her head and pulling her mouth to his, she was surprised by how much of a relief that kiss was – as if she'd been craving it. But she barely had a moment to breathe before he pulled away and looked at her almost smiling; he loved her so much then, was so worried about Alby and the sleeping girl and the other Gladers, he didn't notice the strain in her own smile.

She'd perfected the art of fooling people into thinking she was okay when in truth she felt horrible – at least until her mind had snapped, then she'd made no effort to hide it. She waited for him to look back at her before he rounded the corner of the Homestead, he always looked back. And when he finally disappeared she let herself wilt against the building with a hand to her aching head. If someone had taken a jackhammer to her brain it might not have hurt more than it did then; her own heartbeat was an enemy, adding to the pounding in her ears.

She held herself up against the wood with her eyes shut tight breathing deeply. _Inhale, take a second, exhale. You're doing well dear, just keep breathing._ She knew those words better than she knew her own name – that was his way of calming her when she had a 'shuck fit,' as the Gladers called it. He'd sit beside her as she pulled at the restraints just talking; telling her to breathe. She hated him – his face, his voice, his hand on her arm as he injected a drug into her bloodstream, the fact that he had once been able to calm her – he'd lied to her, she couldn't remember what about, all she knew was that she felt so betrayed and angry and crazy.

But she wasn't crazy.

Eleanor took a steadying breath and smoothed her hair back, her palms flat over her head as she pulled at her roots – it was a soothing feeling, the pressure from her hands, the feeling of her hair being pulled back.

It was her tic. When her head was hurting, or there were too many thoughts, or there was too much going on, the pressure against her head would give her a moment of relief and she could force herself to be calm. It was one of the biggest, reddest, warning flags she had that said her mind was quickly unraveling – the other flag was her denial that she was crazy. All of this the Creators saw as they watched her through the eyes of a Beetle Blade. One man, with a strikingly rodent-like face, watched her square her shoulders as she walked calmly from her hiding spot to work in the Gardens – and he wore a pleased smile. She would pretend she was okay until her mind was so far gone she couldn't even function – she was spiraling, and he'd watched her do this a countless number of times in the past four years. Her non-immune mind was a key piece of their research.

"I want one trained on her at all times," he told the scientists monitoring the children. "And I want her brain activity records as well."

"Sir," a woman said looking at him confused, "she isn't immune. Wouldn't it be best to focus on the others maybe even the boy,"

Janson held a hand up. "It isn't enough to find a cure, we have to know what we're curing," he explained. "She's well into withdrawal, the Flare will begin acting at a much more rapid pace. You're not looking for behaviors, those are psychological, we need her brain activity specifically. Give her until tomorrow night, then give her the Bliss."

…

Zart made his rounds through the Gardens to see the Track-hoes were working, rather than whispering about their newest Greenie. He released an irritable sigh when he saw Eleanor on her knees not moving – for the past few days the actual work she did was minimal, she spent most of her time staring off into space. Newt told him to go easy on her, to remember that she was jacked; but Zart had seen her wide eyes when he'd first showed her around the Gardens, had seen her work through her reservations, had heard Winston say how unhappy she was when he brought her in the Bloodhouse and yet she'd still worked – jacked or not, the girl did what was expected of her. And so he allowed himself to be frustrated that she wasn't working.

It wasn't until he stood over her that he realized she wasn't staring at anything, she wasn't lost in thought – her eyes were shut and she was rubbing her brow, which was creased in pain. "Are you alright?" he asked placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She flinched at the touch and nodded; swearing if she heard that question again she might scream. "I'm fine," she told him, seeing the disbelief on his face when she looked up at him. "My head just hurts." That wasn't even the half of it; progressively through the day the skull shattering ache that had lodged itself in her brain continued to grow until she was where she was now, on her knees barely able to keep herself from lying down so maybe the world might not spin so fiercely. She forced herself to start tilling, resisting the urge to shut her eyes again. "A fine day, your Majesty." She did close her eyes then, that wasn't what she wanted to say – she'd opened her mouth to say everything was fine, but words from that shucking book was all she could manage.

Zart looked down at her suddenly worried, knowing when she said strange things like that it meant she wasn't quite all there. "Elean-"

"A fine day," she said forcing herself to smile, not even bothering to look at him because she sounded and looked completely jacked.

But Zart raised his hands in defeat before standing and walking away, leaving her to work. He didn't, however, stop watching her; something was off in the way she was acting, he could see the tremor in her hands and her twitching gaze. And so when the work day was through and the Runners had returned and dinner time came around, Newt found Eleanor with Zart still watching her.

"Everything alright?" he asked unsurely, looking from her to Zart waiting for one of them to say something.

Zart shrugged shaking his head before walking away, now that Newt was there she didn't have to be his responsibility. Eleanor looked up at Newt to see his worry, the tired bags under his eyes from now being the leader and now having to deal with another girl – and the girl was bad. It wasn't fair to make him worry about her too. "A fine day," she told him quietly.

"Don't know what that bloody means, but I'll take it," he told her, glad to not have to add her to his list of worries. Though that relief didn't last long – he knew from the way she sat nearly fluttering beside him something was wrong. And he thought back to Minho asking him if Eleanor was jealous yet since she wasn't the only girl, and Newt sat for much of dinner wondering if maybe he was right.

It was well after dinner, when they were all settling for the night, when Eleanor finally turned to him and asked: "how's Alby?"

He didn't realize how much he didn't want to tell her until she asked; he couldn't imagine the look on her face if she'd seen him strangling himself – with her already slipping he knew it would've driven her into a panic-driven fit. "As good as buggin' expected," he finally answered.

She knew that meant he wasn't doing well, she also knew that meant most of Newt's worries were for Alby; and there she was selfishly focusing on herself. In the way only a mad girl could, she threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him – it was sweet and endearing, and almost childlike. And he smiled for a brief moment before wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her; there was that feeling of solace, the one he couldn't seem to find anywhere else except in her.

Sometimes he honestly couldn't remember how he'd made it through a day without the thought of holding her at night to keep him going. With a content sigh he laid back pulling her with him, leaving her laying against his chest; and he nearly grinned at her kissing his chin before resting her head on his shoulder. He wanted to say something grand, something so sweet it would break her heart and put it back to together – he wanted to say something that would make her feel what she made him feel – but he didn't have the words and he settled for pulling her closer.

He woke early the next morning to her lying beside him running a hand through his hair. He didn't even want to be awake, he wanted to let her soothe him back to sleep, but a thought struck him that kept him awake; why was she awake, the sun hadn't even come up. "Morning," she told him so softly he didn't know if he heard her or if he just read the word from her mouth.

"Morning," he said in return, taking the hand that was still in his hair and bringing it to his mouth. She felt the smirk curled on his lips as he pressed a kiss to her fingertips, and it made her heart stutter. But Newt's brows knitted together as he brought her hand to his cheek and then reached his own hand to her face. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked her; her skin was cold and clammy, her face the same sickly pale color as it'd been when she first arrived.

She wanted to say yes, she was fine and she could get through the day; but she was tired from not sleeping, and weak, and her stomach was in knots and the thought of standing made her want to curl in a ball. And so she simply said, "I don't know," which was the truth because she didn't know what was wrong with her.

He nodded as he sat up, realizing she'd been showing signs of not being well for days and they'd all been too busy and preoccupied to do anything. "I'm gonna take you to the Med-jacks," he said helping her stand, wrapping an arm around her waist when her knees buckled.

And there it was; the sudden turning of the world that came now every time she stood that left her breathless as her stomach clenched. Only this time the world didn't stop spinning, it just kept going and going and the light kept getting darker and darker.

"Eleanor!"

* * *

><p><em>So I realized that I have about two more chapters left of the Maze Runner, well at least until they get out of the maze - I'm kind of lumping that very last part with the second book. Also this might just be me, but I wanted to say that while my story is completely about Eleanor, the plot itself isn't. So there's very important things happening, it's just she's not apart of them. I don't know, like I said it might just be how I'm feeling. Anyways, thank you all so much for reading. And to all my reviewers, whose words literally help me get through the day - thank you all so very much, this story really wouldn't happen without you.<em>


	16. everybody wants

Eleanor woke to muffled angry voices, staring at the sloppily built wooden roof of the Homestead.

"I told you to watch her," Jeff said furiously from behind the door.

"I have been bloody watching her," Newt said in his defense, refusing to admit he was wrong because it meant he'd let himself forget about her.

"Oh really? Clint what did Frypan say?"

There was a pause, as though Clint didn't want to be apart of this angry discussion. "He said he can't remember seeing her for lunch today and isn't sure about yesterday or the day before, but he knows she hasn't been eating much of her dinner."

"What about water?"

Another pause. "He said there's been one cup barely touched, he assumes it's hers."

"See," Jeff demanded. "Even Frypan noticed she hasn't been eating or drinking. And guess what; she's dehydrated, and probably starving."

Eleanor sat up realizing she was in fact hungry. But that didn't make it Newt's fault, it was obviously hers - she wasn't a child, she was supposed to take care of herself.

Newt was having the same thought. "She isn't a buggin' kid, you didn't say anything about making sure she's eating."

"Do you not remember how starved that shank was when she got here, I know I told you to make sure she eats because she starved herself."

With a hand to her head and shaky legs she stood and made her way to the door, grasping at another bed to keep herself steady. That's when she saw the long dark hair splayed out on a pillow, and Eleanor jumped back so fast she nearly left her brain behind – at least that's what it felt like as she stood with her back against the wall as though the girl was going to open her eyes and tell her Mr. Janson was waiting to give her another test.

The words Newt had been about to say were quieted as the door opened and Eleanor nearly threw herself out slamming it behind her. "You should be lying down," he said reaching for her. At the feel of his hand on her arm she pressed herself against his chest, and it was all he could do to not smile. He knew that it should've made him concerned, that her needing him only proved that was something was wrong with her; but Newt had always been selfish with this, he loved these moments – he hadn't realized he'd been missing the way she'd acted the first month after she arrived, when she'd needed him to know everything was okay.

"I don't want her here," she told him desperately, hoping he'd realize there was something wrong with the girl that lay sleeping in the room – that she meant bad things were happening.

The only problem was Newt had no bloody idea what Eleanor was talking about, all he had to go on was Minho guessing she was jealous. And Newt didn't know enough to think it was anything but that – only Thomas had shaken his head not believing it was simple jealousy. And so all Newt could think to say was; "alright, you can stay in another room."

Jeff's eyes stared severely at every movement she made, watching for when her hands would begin their mad dance over her skin. "That's another thing," Jeff said motioning to the hand that was wrapped around her middle scratching at the place where her ribs ended; hoping Newt would see and stop overlooking all the unconscious signs she was leaving trying to tell them she wasn't okay. He forced her away from Newt and pulled up her shirt to show him the angry red whelps and the few scratches where she'd broken the skin.

"Eleanor," he breathed at the sight of them; it almost hurt to see it, that she'd been hurting herself. That he hadn't even noticed she was doing it. _What's going on in your head?_ he wanted to ask as he watched her pull her shirt down and wrap her arms around her waist, seeing the shame on her face as she backed against the wall. "It's okay," he tried to tell her.

But Jeff wasn't having it. "If this continues," he said looking at them both before settling on Eleanor, "we'll have to tie you down." They couldn't let her keep her hurting herself, and he didn't know if there were more spots on her body that she'd mauled with her nails. And yet staring at her unhappy face, her big sad eyes and her knitted brows, he knew what Newt was feeling in wanting to tell her it was okay. "Maybe you could take her to another room, let her rest," he said turning to Clint, who nodded before leading her away.

Newt waited until they were gone before turning to Jeff with enraged eyes. "That wasn't bloody necessary, you're not tying her down."

Jeff only raised his hands in defeat. "She's gonna stay here until whatever the shuck this is passes," he said seeing the refusal flare in Newt's dark eyes. "You're still acting leader, klunk-head, she needs constant supervision. She doesn't think anything's wrong with her, she's not gonna ask for help. I know you love her, but she's still jacked." And with those words Jeff shook his head, not knowing what to do for their crazy Glader, and walked back into the room with the girl who seemed to be pulling the Glade apart by the seems.

Newt knew he should go in there and ask how the Greenie was doing, if she'd woken yet or was still dead to the world, but he couldn't bring himself to go anywhere but the room Eleanor had been taken to. He stood in the doorway watching her sit on the floor playing with her fingers, knowing she was trying to keep them from scratching. "If you need anything, even for me to sit with you, tell him to come get me," he said firmly, sweeping the hair out of her face so he could see her. He looked at her sweet brown eyes so worried for her, so past the point of in love with her, that it didn't register in his mind that Jeff had said he loved her – he'd already fallen so far. He quickly kissed her cheek and stood looking to Clint. "I mean it," he told him before stepping out of the room.

"Hey," Clint said quietly following him, "did the supplies really not come today?"

With a grave sigh Newt shook his head. "Same time and day of every bloody week until today," he muttered, knowing the moment he stepped out of the Homestead he'd be bombarded by several if not all of the Gladers needing assurance that things were okay – because first the Box brought a Greenie three weeks too early, then it was a shucking girl with a note that said she was the last one, and now the supplies hadn't come; and Alby was still lying in a bed bemoaning the return of his horrible memories. "Wonder what else is gonna go wrong."

…

Eleanor remained in her spot on the floor, able to stretch out a leg and catch the warmth of the sunlight, able to see both the door and Clint who sat with her in case she started picking at her skin.

"Eleanor," he'd say sternly when he saw her nails scratching at her arm.

And every time she jumped and looked at him timidly, lowering her hands to her lap, as she settled back against the wall. They both startled at the sound of a thump coming from above them, having once been sitting in silence, and Clint was immediately on his feet stepping to the door.

He turned to Eleanor to see her sitting as she had been for the last half hour humming gently as she played with the ends of her hair; she didn't seem to notice that he'd moved, that he was leaving, and so he chanced leaving her for a minute to see that Jeff was alright.

When he'd rounded the corner out of sight Eleanor looked up to see he was really gone, and then she started scratching the skin over her collarbone. She couldn't remember why she was scratching herself, why there was the feeling of bugs crawling beneath her skin – because there wasn't that feeling, there was just the memory of it.

But by the time Clint found his way back down to Eleanor he saw her playing with her hair humming softly, exactly where he'd left her. "The girl's awake, she hit Jeff and climbed out of the shucking window. You wanna go see her?" he asked still laughing at Jeff's embarrassment. He didn't know her well enough to note the way she stilled, to see the moment she stopped breathing at the thought of that dark haired girl.

"No thank you," she said, her voice strangely airy and shaky, her right hand reaching for the wall as her first finger began tapping.

Clint didn't notice, had already turned away, and he left her there. It may have been the worst time to leave her alone, her mind was stuck on the endless 'mental activities' she'd been forced to take; there was no hope of her coming out of it, not without Newt, and he was standing under the Lookout staring up at the girl who'd climbed to the top.

…

It was quite some time later that Thomas climbed down, Newt having told him to go up since the girl had known his name, and helped Teresa down after him. After Teresa was given some food, after Newt questioned her about what she could remember – which wasn't much more than any of them, besides Thomas' name. After all of that, Thomas finally turned to Newt and said; "I wanted to introduce Teresa to Eleanor."

"That's not a good idea, Tommy," Newt said remembering how tightly she'd pressed against him as though she were afraid of Teresa.

But Thomas was so sure if Eleanor just saw Teresa she'd see everything was fine; he felt such a strong connection to her, felt so safe with her as though he'd spent almost everyday with her before, that Thomas was sure Eleanor would feel the same if she'd just sit with Teresa. "Maybe if Eleanor sees that Teresa isn't gonna hurt her, she'll be fine."

It showed Newt's desperation for something to help Eleanor that he finally relented. "She's easily upset, if she wants you out you get out," he told Teresa firmly; suddenly finding himself guilty he'd ever thought she was pretty when Eleanor was just on the other side of the door.

They all knew something was very wrong at first glance of the girl behind the door; she sat against the wall staring wide eyed at the space in front of her, her left hand scratching the base of her neck and her right hand held up with her finger still tapping. "I don't want her here," Eleanor said without moving her eyes, knowing subconsciously Teresa was there.

That was all Newt needed to want them all to leave. She'd be fine if he could just sit beside her, maybe even hold her; he could normally talk her out of anything. She could be fine if Teresa left. But Thomas stepped forward and crouched down in front of Eleanor, looking at her face to see something in her mind had snapped. "Hey," he said reaching a hand out to her knee.

Newt waited for her to jerk her leg out of his grasp, to whimper, to do something that said she didn't want him touching her – but she looked at Thomas waiting for what he'd say, and Newt's chest ached at seeing the trust on her face.

"You knew me when I first got here, you know I'm not gonna let anything hurt you," he said; he'd never thought about it before, he'd been too caught up in figuring out why he knew her to realize how much he felt the need to keep her safe. And he smiled when she nodded. "Okay, so just listen to what Teresa has to say. She won't hurt you, I swear," he said holding a hand to his heart.

Eleanor turned from Thomas' eager face to Newt's unhappy one, pleading silently with him to just make them leave. But Thomas quickly looked to Newt, wanting answers more than anything for why he knew both girls – and they were so close to finding a way out, him and Minho had literally stared the exit in the face before having to run back, maybe there was something locked away in her jacked mind. "Maybe she'd feel more comfortable without you here," Thomas offered, earning himself a sharp look from Newt.

Jeff stepped forward placing a hand on Newt's shoulder. "She never liked you here when she talked about being crazy, Nick always made you leave. This is normal, it might mean she's close to comin' out of this," Jeff said in Thomas' defense – though Jeff's concerns lay solely with Eleanor; with order in the Glade disintegrating they couldn't have her as another burden.

He wasn't happy hearing it, he wasn't happy with any of it because he didn't think Eleanor wanted to talk; but he was in the same mind frame as Jeff, she needed to be better when the Glade fell apart, and it seemed so obvious that it was starting to. "I'll be right outside," he assured her, reaching a calm hand to squeeze her arm gently.

Teresa saw the sheer amount of care in that simple gesture, and she stood wondering why no one else was seeing how clearly it was written on Eleanor's face that Newt was the only one she didn't want to leave. But even Jeff left, closing the door behind him, leaving just the three; and Eleanor continued tapping the air, only now her eyes were flickering wildly over something only she could she could see. Thomas beckoned Teresa closer, and because of the strange trust she felt with him she stepped forward, feeling the moment Eleanor recoiled.

"You're with them," Eleanor said suddenly turning to the dark haired girl, her finger still twitching over an imaginary screen. "You want what they want."

Teresa looked to Thomas suddenly wary of the girl staring at her, seeing in her dark eyes a strong dislike beneath the fear. But all Thomas did was mouth the words, say something, which is the exact opposite of what she wanted to do. "My name's Teresa," she said. "What's yours?" She was trying for normal, for something easy and calm – anything to make Eleanor stop staring at her as though she knew every secret she had.

"You want what they want," Eleanor said again. "They put something in my head, I can feel it. And you're with them."

"Eleanor," Thomas said realizing this had been a terrible idea; he couldn't remember what to do. This felt so familiar, seeing her so crazy, and he remembered doing something that always calmed her down – he just couldn't remember what it was. "She doesn't remember anything, just like us. She's not with them."

Eleanor turned blazing eyes on Thomas and shook her head emphatically. "No," she said refusing to listen. "You're lying." That one word, lying, changed everything in her mind as she looked at him. "Get out," she said before he could open his mouth to speak.

"Eleanor,"

"Get out," she told him again, her voice rising in volume. She watched him raise a hand to touch her, hoping to calm her. "Get out!"

The moment she screamed Newt threw the door open and grabbed Teresa before nearly shoving her out of the room, and then he turned and did the same to Thomas; not even bothering to talk or even look at the two before he was at Eleanor's side cradling her shaking body to his chest. "It's okay," he swore to her, holding her tightly against him. "We're all bloody alright."

Thomas stood looking into the room hearing her quiet sobs, feeling a horrible guilt at being the one to upset her this badly. If he'd done anything, other than break her, her hand at least had stopped twitching as it instead clenched around Newt's shirt.

"Tell me that wasn't Eleanor," Minho said stopping beside Thomas; having heard the yell as he entered the Homestead. "That shank's always been a little mouse." He didn't even wait for Thomas to say anything as he moved into the room and knelt beside Newt, needing to tell him what he and Thomas had found in the Maze. "What shape was the door?" he asked Eleanor. He looked to a confused Newt, who sat resting his cheek on the top of her head, and gave a curt shake of his head before he could say anything.

She was quiet several moments, long enough they should've given up on an answer; but they knew her too well. "A circle," she said finally, watching a wide smile split on his face.

"What are you bloody goin' on about?" Newt asked wondering what Minho was talking about, and why Eleanor was now slowly relaxing.

Minho looked at Newt still smiling. "We found the way out," he said watching Newt's brows raise as he sat up straighter. An answer from Eleanor, who'd always been proof that escape lay in the Maze, was all Minho needed to know for certain that they'd finally found what they were looking for. "You mind if I borrow this shank?" he asked her, watching her wipe beneath her eyes as she moved out of Newt's embrace and nodded. "There's my She-bean," he said hitting her leg before leaving. "We'll be in the map room," he added as an afterthought.

Newt looked at her to see she'd finally calmed, at least she was as calm as she'd been before she passed out earlier that morning – which was still agitated. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he told her, kissing her cheek chastely as he stood to follow after Minho.

She watched them go wondering why they seemed so happy; there wasn't an out or an escape. She knew exactly what they'd find if they went through that circular door, and Mr. Janson would be there waiting for her. She didn't want to go.

…

Eleanor drank the water Clint gave her, it might've been the eighth cup he'd given her throughout the day, or the tenth. All she knew was that she tired of water.

At the sound of the Doors moving, magnified by three, she held her hands to her ears knowing something was wrong; they weren't normally that loud. The normal groaning of the stone sounding like screeching, but she'd felt this sound rattle in her brain.

"Stay here," Clint told her before he met Jeff in the hall and they went outside to see what was going on.

She moved to the window and stared in shock at the open Door she was facing; it wasn't supposed to do that, Newt told her they closed every night to keep the Grievers out – nothing would keep them out now.

Her mind was so lost in the panic of seeing their only security was gone that she didn't notice the small mechanical bug crawling on the sill of the window toward her. And then fear so cold her heart froze at the sound of metal screaming, a creature she suddenly remembered seeing – they looked like giant spiders, except their legs were metal, and it's body was a sick fleshy green.

She gasped at the feel of a sudden pain in her arm and looked down to see a Beetle Blade hanging from her sleeve. "No," she whispered as she collapsed on the ground, all efforts to stand were useless as her mind settled in the numb uncaring fog it'd been so desperately craving.

The Bliss was administered.


	17. to rule the world

Teresa sat with Tom's head in her lap as she waited for him to wake up, wanting to yell at him and tell him he was the stupidest person she'd ever met for stinging himself and then wanting to hug him because she just felt so worried – as if he were someone she'd cared about for years. She looked up when someone walked to where Newt stood, waiting for Tom as well, and saw it was Jeff. She didn't hear everything they said but she caught one word very clearly, 'her.' Jeff was looking for Eleanor, and from the almost painful way Newt's shoulders slumped Teresa knew he hadn't found her.

Half of them were dead after the Grievers attacked last night, and no one that was still alive had seen Eleanor; after watching Alby die Newt was already riddled with despair. He thought maybe he could be okay, maybe he could keep going, maybe he'd stop hurting if he could just hold her and feel the flutter of her heart against his chest. But Jeff had just come back from the Homestead, or at least what was left of it – he didn't even know where her room was in the rubble.

"Check again," Newt told him softly, the hope already slipping away from him.

Jeff wanted her to be alive too but he knew if she was still in the Homestead, which she had to be because he'd already checked everywhere else, then she was buried underneath the pile of broken wood. The likelihood of her being alive was next to none, she would've been impaled; and Jeff knew Newt wouldn't stop looking for her until she was found, but he didn't think Newt could handle finding her dead. "Newt she's not,"

"Would you just bloody check again," Newt said sharply, not willing to stop looking for her until they found her – whether or not she was alive, he needed to know.

With a sigh Jeff nodded before turning back to the mess that had once been their home not wanting to dig through the boards just find her body, but with Alby dead Newt was their leader – and this was what he wanted. "Where the shuck am I supposed to start?" he asked himself as he looked at the mass of wood strewn about. He moved around the left side knowing she'd been facing the south Door and began throwing aside the boards in front of him. After several minutes of trying to clear a spot, having to stop often to wipe the sweat from his face, he finally found something. "Shuck," he cried throwing himself back at the sight of the metal leg from a Griever. He sat slumped on the pile he fell against waiting for the thing to kill him, his heart pounding hard enough to break his ribs and burst out of his skin – and even laying on his lap it'd still race from the fear seeing the Griever had caused him.

For several moments he sat waiting for it to move, and with a shaking hand he held a piece of wood and hit it against the leg – hearing the sharp clang of the wood on metal - and he flinched knowing if it was alive it'd kill him then. But again, it did nothing. And so he crept forward timidly and began moving the wood that had gathered around it, seeing the several pieces that had impaled its twisted body – one going straight through its klunk head.

He nearly laughed in relief, the fear slowly seeping out of him as he sat down finding he was near tears. And then he heard a quiet tapping on the floor. An almost inaudible thump, it was the gentle clicking that he'd heard. "Eleanor?" he asked in disbelieving shock when he bent down to see her lying on her stomach beneath the dead Griever – as though it'd been protecting her.

She gave him no response, she didn't even look up at him. She just kept staring at the spot on the wood her nail was clicking against, a strange half smile curled on her mouth.

Jeff threw the debris away before kneeling down and grabbing her arms, not caring when she told him stop, she just wanted to lay down. She stood unhappily as he checked her over, letting him lift up her shirt and turn her and move her hair to see any sign of injury – other than a few cuts and several bruises she seemed to be fine. Physically at least. "Lets just get you to Newt," he said before helping her over the wooden remains. Though she pulled her hand out of his grasp and carelessly kicked her way out of the rubble, her face strangely void of all emotion save that weird smile.

Teresa's face was the first thing Thomas saw when he opened his eyes, her wonderfully beautiful face filled with concern for him – something about seeing that look on her face made him happy. The second thing he saw, or rather heard, was Newt exclaim – "bloody hell" – and out of habit Thomas sat up to see what was going on. Which was nothing more than the sight of a boy's obvious love for the girl he was suffocating from how hard he pressed her against him. Thomas looked at Teresa to see such a gentle look on her face as she watched the two, as she watched utter relief settle on Newt's worried shoulders. Thomas knew what she was thinking, had thought it himself a number of times, she wanted someone to care about her like that – as though someone had and they were missing. Sitting beside Teresa then, he realized he'd been missing her.

But Thomas had several flashes of memories swimming behind his eyes, one of the day he'd stolen Eleanor from WICKED; Teresa had been there, had helped him, and all the while she'd made it known she didn't want to help the mad girl. WICKED needed Eleanor, she was important. It's why Eleanor didn't like her – at least as Thomas thought. Besides of course Teresa had been the one to hit her over the head.

…

"_What the hell?" Thomas exclaimed, more in surprise than anything else, as he caught the now unconscious girl before she fell. "I could've talked her into going, you didn't need to do that."_

_Teresa rolled her eyes. "Did you forget the Swipe, she doesn't remember you," she said in her defense; the stupid girl wasn't gonna go on her own, and a stranger telling her it was alright wouldn't do anything more than scare her. "We shouldn't be doing this," she said for the fifth time since they'd taken her from her room. This wouldn't be what Janson wanted, Eleanor was important to their research for the cure and he was doing everything he could to make her happy – but she was stubborn, and already half-crazed. Or so he'd told Teresa. _

_Thomas didn't believe Eleanor was crazy, at least not in the way they'd been told. "I saw the scans of her brain, her Killzone's almost completely intact. It makes no sense that she's acting like she'll turn into a Crank in less than a week." He held her in his arms and stood by the door, turning back to Teresa waiting for her to open it – to see that she was really on his side. It honestly meant everything to him that Teresa sighed unhappily before pressing the button, and he stepped into the Maze almost smiling as he carried Eleanor away from the Griever hole. _

_He set Eleanor down and stuffed the note in the pocket of the sweater he'd given her, shaking her gently until her eyes opened. "Find the center, you have to find the center before the sun sets," he told her. He made to say more but her eyes fluttered shut, and with a heavy heart he stood and made his way back to the door – hoping she heard him and she'd find her way. _

"_We'll get in trouble for this," Teresa said as the door closed behind him, leaving the unconscious girl to fend for herself. _

_But Thomas only shrugged, finding he wasn't worried; it'd taken him four years to finally find the courage to help her. "So we get in trouble, at least she'll be safe. They'll take care of her." If only he'd known then how true that was._

…

There were several parts of that memory he didn't understand, like how they'd gotten Eleanor to the Maze or even what a Crank was – all he remembered was that the Creators had made her think she was crazy, had convinced her she was turning into a Crank. And that after so many years of being told the same thing, it'd bled into her subconscious until she believed it.

Newt turned to Jeff not knowing whether to demand why he hadn't found her sooner or to thank him, so he settled for asking; "Where was she?"

Jeff shook his head having already decided to just tell Newt what he'd found. "In the Homestead with a shuckin' Griever standing over her."

Unconsciously Newt tightened his arms around her, as though she was in danger and he could protect her from it. "What does that bloody mean?"

"I think it protected her," he answered honestly, as ridiculously stupid as it sounded; but it's what he'd seen. "There were pieces of wood sticking out of it, pieces that should've been sticking out of her."

Out of everything that seemed to be the most difficult thing to understand; the night before the Grievers had killed nearly half of them, they were disgusting machines that had only one purpose – to kill them. "That can't be true," Newt said still holding her firmly.

But Jeff only shrugged, having told Newt all he knew. It wasn't Jeff's voice that spoke the words; "The Creators don't want her dead." The two boys turned to Thomas surprised not only by his being awake but also by his words. "We have a lot to talk about, call a Gathering."

Newt sat Eleanor down outside of the Map Room, knowing from the way she dropped roughly to the ground without a care that something was wrong – regardless of the fact that she hadn't said anything, though she'd never been much of a talker. But her face was so serene, a soft smile on her mouth, glazed unseeing eyes – and yet there was such fire in her stare he knew her mind was going wild. "Did you give her something?" he asked turning to Jeff who did nothing more than shrug having absolutely no answer for what was wrong with her.

Yet once again Thomas spoke up. "She was almost constantly drugged," he said as he stood. He gently grabbed Eleanor by the arm and made her stand as he led her to a patch of dirt that had no grass covering it before leaving her to sit. "There's something I should tell you," he said turning to Newt almost warily, knowing the other boy had never liked seeing him with her. "About, um, who sent her here," he started already regretting having opened his mouth. With a derisive snort Newt reached into his pocket and handed him the folded paper he always had on him. "You kept the note I sent with her," Thomas said almost surprised to see his sloppy writing. The page was wrinkled far more than it'd been the day he'd written it, but otherwise it was exactly the same.

"Of course I bloody kept it," Newt said harsher than he'd meant; but he was exhausted, his friends were dead, his best friend was dead, the order they'd striven toward was completely gone, and she was somehow getting worse. And yet he wasn't hopeless, not completely – he might be okay with dying if he could just hold her. "You gave me everything, Tommy."

Thomas looked at him so surprised he was speechless; he didn't know it was possible to say something more powerful than the word love, but he thought maybe Newt had just done it. And as he always did, he felt like he was intruding as Newt gazed at her; his eyes reading clearly how much he wanted to wrap his arms around her. "Well technically I gave her to everyone."

Newt turned and stared at Thomas with furrowed brows before a grin split his face and he laughed punching his arm. "Good that," Newt said before turning to the Glade to see the remaining Keepers were coming. And then he turned to Thomas suddenly serious. "Did you remember anything about her, what they did to her?" he asked, seeing in his eyes he had.

"It might make more sense after I tell you everything else," Thomas said seeing the disappointment in Newt's eyes. Thomas quickly knelt beside Eleanor, knowing the others wouldn't want to wait when they got there, and moved his mouth beside her ear.

Both Newt and Teresa watched seething with jealousy as Thomas whispered something to Eleanor, and saw the trusting way Eleanor looked up him and nodded before she reached for a stick. "What'd you tell her?" Newt asked when Thomas stood and turned to them.

Thomas shook his head. "You'll find out later," he said knowing it'd probably take him closer to a half hour to tell them everything – possibly longer because they were sure to interrupt.

And he wasn't wrong. Eleanor sat for quite some time dragging her stick across dirt listening to their voices in the building behind her. She heard everything; that their names weren't even real, that the Maze was just a test and this was the final part, that they were chosen specifically because they were smarter than average, that Thomas and Teresa were a part of it all. But where the other Gladers often interjected their personal thoughts Eleanor waited patiently for Thomas' clear voice, doing what he'd told her to and continuing to carve lines on the ground.

When a plan had finally been formed, though not unanimously agreed upon, they stepped out of the Map Room to tell the other Gladers and saw Eleanor on her knees staring at the ground.

"What about her?" Minho asked, realizing they hadn't even talked about her or what she was really doing in the Glade. "Don't get me wrong the She-bean's nice and all but I wouldn't say she was smart."

Chuck, who'd stayed the night at Thomas' side as well and had eavesdropped on the meeting, moved to where Eleanor was – so used to being on the receiving end of that snide tone. "No way," he breathed when he saw what she was doing.

Thomas smiled knowing Minho would have the same reaction. "How many times has she seen the Map?" he asked Minho, who answered one. "Go look."

Newt and Minho shared a confused look before they both stepped forward to see what Eleanor was doing. "There's no shucking way," Minho said in utter disbelief.

Thomas had told her to draw the part of the Maze with the Griever hole knowing she knew exactly where it was – and the others gathered round to see the section of the Map she'd drawn, in near perfect detail. "Don't ever question her intelligence Minho, she remembers everything."

"Why'd you send her here?" Newt asked, able to turn his eyes away from her replica because he knew she was smart – he wanted to know her better, to understand exactly what had happened so he'd know what to do in the future.

That was something Thomas didn't fully understand. "She told you she was sick," he said watching Newt nod.

"I'm dying," Eleanor's sweet voice said suddenly.

Minho nearly rolled his eyes at how dramatic she was, though Newt stared down at her with brows creased in unhappiness at the brazen way she'd said it. It wasn't true, he didn't believe it - there was no possible way she was dying, he couldn't handle it.

"Yes," Thomas said knowing he was destroying Newt's heart. "I'm sorry," he said looking at his shocked friend. "They've been testing her, monitoring her brain. I don't remember everything, but I do know they made her think she was crazier than she is. I overheard them saying they were going to terminate her testing, that she was too far gone - that's why I sent her here for you to keep her safe. I thought I was helping," he said, something in his mind snapping into place as he realized he hadn't helped at all. "But I think this is what they wanted. They wanted me to send her here, she's just another part of the test."

The Gladers that were there stood in complete silence as they contemplated everything Thomas had just said, at what it all meant. "Who was she named after?" Chuck said trying to lessen the tension that hung thick in the air.

Thomas almost smiled as he remembered the kind girl who'd held him the night after Ben attacked him; the girl that was kind to everyone, even when they didn't deserve it. "Eleanor Roosevelt," he answered.

It didn't do much to break the tension but it did loosen Gally's tongue as he asked:"Did you remember why she doesn't like Teresa?" as he stared darkly at the new girl knowing she'd caused all of this – her and Thomas.

Thomas looked at Gally knowing the boy blamed him for everything, and he really didn't want to make him hate Teresa; his loyalty was to the Glade, and Eleanor. "I'm surprised she likes me," he said instead of answering, though it meant admitting something he was still ashamed of. "It took me four years to help her."

Gally turned to him enraged. "You knew what they were doing the whole time she was there?" he demanded ready to punch his shuck-face again.

"No," Thomas was quick to say, though he had to think a moment before he understood what Gally was saying. "I met her four years ago. I don't know how long the Creators had her."

That silenced Gally as he was forced to realize what that meant. Newt though had been deep in thought from the moment Thomas admitted he knew her for four years – everything was about him. "Eleanor," he said waiting for her to look up at him. "One four six one, four years ago, you met Thomas." At her nod he realized somehow her mind had been trying to tell her Thomas was coming, she counted from the day she met him, the alarm triggered a memory and she sat waiting for him – subconsciously she'd been leaving herself hints. "How many days have you counted, in total?" he asked next, a pit emptying in his stomach as he awaited her answer.

She thought a moment as she added the past few days. "Three seven eight four," she answered before turning back to the map she'd drawn in the dirt as she continued, beginning to add in another section.

They were silent as they tried to think of how many years that was. "Ten years," Teresa said quietly; she didn't have to do the math, somewhere in her mind she knew that was the right answer; there was a memory locked away that went with it.

Not even Minho could say anything to that; tens years of being drugged and tied down as a punishment – it was unfathomable. Thomas looked at the Gladers to see them either shocked or sad as they looked at the clearly broken girl. "We should tell the others about the plan to leave, give them time to think about it," he said as though he could hear her thoughts and know she hated being stared at.

"Good that," Minho said forgetting his thoughts about Eleanor as he thought once more of escaping.

The rest of the Keepers followed after, turning to each other as they whispered if they were sure they were either gonna go or stay. Newt was reluctant but he left her where she sat preoccupied with finishing her little Maze; she looked so content and peaceful, as though everything wasn't about to end one way or another. His biggest concern as he walked away from her was how she was gonna make it through the Maze – she was clearly not in the right state of mind to fight her way to the Griever Hole. The answer was obvious, she couldn't go with them, but leaving her behind wasn't an option.


	18. there's a room where

"Get up, Eleanor," Gally told her, his voice unkind though it was far gentler than it normally was. He met her eye when she turned her face to look at him, seeing she didn't want to. "You can finish the Maze later." He had the same thought as Newt, she wouldn't make it in the Maze – and if he were honest he didn't want anyone going. Except Thomas and Teresa, he had a plan for them. He turned to the two Gladers behind him and nodded, having decided they had to do something about their two Greenies last night. "Come on," he said lifting her to her feet. "Wait by that door," he said making sure she followed where he was pointing before he left her.

Eleanor danced her way to the place Gally pointed, standing on the tips of her toes as she twirled around and around in slow circles, her hands hung high above her head - they were talking about finally escaping, in the most dangerous way possible, and there she was dancing like a drunken ballerina. Her feet stopped when she caught sight of a silver gleam on the wall, her hands falling to her sides as she stared at it - her head tilted to the side, her glazed eyes quite suddenly aware as she moved closer.

"Hello," she greeted softly staring at the bright red light that came from the Beetle Blade's eyes. "Mouse dear. Do come back again, and we won't talk about cats, or dogs either, if you don't like them," she said before giggling lightly as though she'd said something funny. And she had; she knew the man with the pinched mouth and the long nose was realizing, that very second, that she'd made him smile - he'd given her the book whose words were tattooed in her mind; there was a time he'd read it to her, stopping to explain what a word meant here and there, but that time ended when she could read it for herself.

There was nothing at all that would've made her step away from the Beetle Blade that sat on the wall with it's red eye aimed at her face; not the sound of yelling as Gally corralled a few other Gladers to help him 'sacrifice' Thomas and Teresa, not when Thomas called to her - "Eleanor say something, he'll listen to you," - not even when Newt and Thomas got the upper hand on Gally and his accomplices, not when the Gladers all voiced whether they'd go with Thomas or stay with Gally. She barely heard any of it.

"Is that thing staring at her?" Teresa asked looking at Eleanor, the only person who hadn't given their answer, and saw her standing with her chest pressed against the stone of the Wall and a silver bug beside her head.

Newt slowly moved to where Eleanor stood, a sliver of dread settling in his stomach at seeing how still the Beetle was – they never let the Gladers get too close before they'd scurry away. There was something unsettling about seeing it immobile as it stood only inches from her face. But the moment its red eye flicked toward Newt it quickly climbed higher on the wall.

"I can see you Mr. Janson," her soft voice called as she raised her head to follow the Beetle Blade. She smiled when it stopped and looked back at her, knowing exactly what he was saying – "clever girl" – and he would neither smile nor sound pleased.

Newt gently wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her away from the Wall, not liking that it'd responded to her, not liking that she'd just said someone's name, or that the Creators had used a Griever to protect her, or that somehow they'd given her some kind of drug. He didn't like anything about this because he was starting to realize that she was being protected from a very real threat, not just her mind, and they weren't done with her yet – he couldn't shake himself of the fear that he was gonna lose her. "We're gonna leave soon, you should eat something," he said not knowing when she'd last eaten, and they had a long way to run. He almost said she should get a weapon too, they'd have to fight their way through the Grievers, but he honestly didn't trust her with one – not with the way she stood swaying gently, that bloody smile still on her face. "Eleanor," he said firmly as he took her face in his hands and tilted it so she was forced to look at him. There was nothing beautiful about her eyes, there was no red interwoven in the brown to make them look impossibly deep and alight with her thoughts; they were muddy, her pupils blown – as high as a kite, as the saying went. But he needed her then, he wouldn't leave her behind; he couldn't. "Did you hear me, we're leaving you need to get ready."

"No."

He stared at her startled not just by her refusal but also by the simple way she'd said it, as though it were an obvious response. He quickly looked around to see no one but Thomas watching them, the others getting ready to leave or trying to persuade the ones staying to come, before he turned back to her and spoke. "The buggin' Grievers will back tonight, you'll die," he told her, his hands tightening around her head as though he might be able to force the words into her mind. "Staying's not an option, get some food or wait by the door I don't care which."

"No," she told him again watching his eyes widen in complete shock.

"Eleanor," he warned, though he wasn't angry – he was confused, so horribly confused why she was telling him no. He couldn't remember ever hearing that word come out of her mouth. "I'm not leaving you here," he told her, and he wouldn't.

If only she could just _think._ Her head was so foggy and heavy, she just wanted to lie down and stare at the sky – to soak in the beauty of the sun and the sky. But there were so many thoughts she wanted to think, that she was trying to think but the fog just kept coming thicker. She didn't want to go, the Griever Hole wasn't an exit and apparently Thomas didn't remember enough to know that. And she certainly didn't want Newt to go, her sweet patient boy that made the sun shine brighter. "I am so very tired of being all alone here." That was all she had to give him, and it wasn't enough to get into his head what was going through her mind.

He moved his hands around her shoulders and pulled her to him, breathing in the feel of her against him as though somewhere in his mind he knew he'd have to leave her. "I know you're in there," he mumbled with his mouth against her ear. "I can't," the words died on his tongue, reluctant to admit how much he needed her; but it was all the leverage he had to make her listen. "I can't do this without you," he finally said. "It's not possible." And it wasn't, because he bloody loved her; but to actually say the word love, he wasn't brave enough for that. So he settled for what he could say. "Please, don't make me leave you."

The longer he stood holding her in silence the more hope fled him; her eyes would still be glazed, her mouth still smiling, her mind still saying no. He didn't have to look at her to know that.

"Stay with me."

He thought he'd imagined the sound of her voice at first, he pulled her back to look at her face hoping to see her eyes bright with awareness – but her placid face was exactly the same. Except her mouth smiled no more. "Eleanor," he said brushing the hair out of her face to better see her. No matter how he tried he couldn't get any semblance of a response out of her, and the longer he stared at her the more he realized whatever light had been in her eyes was gone. It was like before when she was waiting for Thomas, only then when he lifted her arm and let go it had hung in the air where he'd put it – now it only fell limply by her side.

"Newt."

He turned at the sound of his name being called, hearing in Thomas' tone that it wasn't the first time his name had been said. "Don't say it Tommy," he told him still trying to refuse it.

But the Gladers who'd decided to go were almost all ready, or as ready as they'd ever be. They couldn't wait forever for Newt to realize Eleanor was in no shape for what they'd have to do. "She can't come with us."

"I bloody know she can't come with us," Newt said nearly spitting as he turned to Thomas. Though his face cleared and guilt shone in his eyes as he looked back to Eleanor, whose head had fallen to the side as she stared blankly at the ground. _Come back to me_, he pleaded silently. He couldn't remember ever praying, or who he was supposed to pray to, but he prayed then that she'd look at him and say she was ready.

Thomas knew the mere idea of leaving her, not knowing if he'd live to see her again, was eating him alive. "You know she won't fight. A Griever could be coming for her and she'd just stand there letting it come," he said trying to get through to Newt. "We might be able to stop everything, maybe even shut down the Grievers. We can come back for her when it's safe."

That wasn't what Newt wanted to hear, even if it was the safest thing for her – he knew taking her in the Maze would probably kill her and anyone burdened with having to carry her. Thomas was right, she wouldn't fight. But that didn't make it any easier.

"He's right."

Both Thomas and Newt turned to see Gally standing where Eleanor had been before she'd turned and walked back to the unfinished Map she'd drawn.

Gally looked at Newt seeing the worry and fear that was in almost all of their eyes. "She won't make it if you take her now. I'll look after her til you shanks come get her, if you make it that far."

Thomas watched Newt's deeply unhappy face, seeing his brows so creased they almost blended into one, frowning heavily as he looked to where Eleanor now sat once more drawing lines in the dirt. Thomas honestly didn't know if Newt would leave her or if he'd change his mind and stay – he was a wild card when it came to her. And so he watched silently as Newt walked to where Eleanor was and knelt beside her, knowing he was pleading with her to snap out of it.

Which she of course didn't; she had no control of her mind anymore. Janson had underestimated her love for the boy and she'd said more than she should've been able – now he sat watching through a Beetle Blade's eye as she drew the West section of the Maze, mapping the path she'd taken to get to the Glade from the Griever Hole. Her paranoia had always made her too clever, she knew where the door would take them and she didn't want to go back. He was giving her no choice; the Grievers were programmed not to hurt her, and she was now programmed to go to the Griever Hole. Everything would fall into place one way or another.

"I'm gonna bloody come back," he swore to her, sweeping her long hair over her shoulder so he could see her face. She didn't even act like she knew he was there, that his hand was on the back of her neck; she just kept drawing. "Just wait, yeah, I'll get you out of here." In a last act of hope he waited for her to look up and nod, that's really all he wanted – for her to acknowledge that he was there. But again nothing. And with a heavy heart he sighed before kissing her cheek, noting that her hand paused for a second before continuing the wall she was drawing in the dirt.

The Maze was still incomplete when she finally stood; all she drew was the path that led to the Griever Hole – where the others had a far way to run, with several turns and more likely than not Grievers to get through, all she had to do was take the left path – the one Minho had sworn was never open – the one the Creators had made specifically for her.

While the few Gladers who'd chosen to stay behind stood seeing the others off, wishing them luck and second guessing their own decisions, Eleanor left her dirt Map and walked unnoticed to the West door. And without a second look back she stepped into the Maze and turned left.

* * *

><p><em>This was not where I wanted to end the chapter, I wanted to be done with Maze - but today ended up being a little crazy and I just ran out of time. So I'm very sorry that not much happened, and that it's a little short. Also, I think I worried a few people by saying last chapter she was dying; I promise she's not gonna drop dead in a few days. I just meant that she has the Flare, she's not immune, so by default she's dying - and for those of you who've read the third book you'll understand, technically he's dying too. But she's not knocking on death's door at the moment, I didn't mean that and I'm sorry for not making that more clear.<em>

_I would also just like to thank all of my reviewers, I'M AT 200! it really means the world to me that you guys review. I can't express to you how much it just makes my day to get them. So thank you, all of you, so much. (And a special thanks to NellIntheMaze, she helped me form the idea for this chapter)_


	19. the light won't find you

_maggie: thank you so much for noticing the little hints I left about her memory - that makes me so happy. your review really made me smile, I'm so glad to know you think I'm doing the characters and their emotions justice. it's really a relief to hear, especially since the books were great. thank you so much again. _

* * *

><p>Eleanor stood in the exact same spot she'd woken up in over four months ago, a long passageway leading to the door she'd been brought through. For the longest time she thought she'd been dreaming as she walked through the Maze, her right hand trailing over the walls as she backtracked her way to that circular door – back to Mr. Janson and his tests, back to being drugged, back to the room she wasn't allowed to leave except to take more tests. And then suddenly it was like she'd woken up and she stared in a panicked shock at the one place she didn't want to be.<p>

"No," she breathed stepping back, or at least she tried to step back – her feet weren't listening to her. "I wanna go back to the Glade. I wanna see Newt."

In reality her voice was trapped inside her chest, her heart racing with the need to run away because she knew what fate was behind that door, but her body wasn't listening to her. In reality she stood staring blank and tranquil at the pathway, waiting for the Gladers who managed to survive to meet her – Janson knew the moment she had control of her body she would run, the only thing that would force her to stay was that boy. And so they waited until the first of the Gladers rounded the corner and saw her before they shut down the chip and let her consciousness control her body.

She nearly felt the moment her body was hers, her drugged mind finally snapping into place and she turned to see a shocked Thomas staring at her. "Eleanor?" he asked staring at her horribly confused, and almost wary – the last time he'd seen her was sitting on the ground carving lines in the dirt refusing to go. Something wasn't right about her being there.

"Dude," Minho cried slamming into his back. "We got Grievers on our shuckin' tails, what are you," his words died at the sight of the small girl standing in front of their exit. "I knew you wouldn't let him leave," he said walking quickly to her, looking over his shoulder knowing the Grievers were probably waiting for them.

Eleanor wanted to yell at them, scream that they were all idiots – they knew the Creators were watching them, were controlling every aspect of the Maze including the Grievers, therefore it was obvious whatever exit would lead to the Creators not freedom. And yet no one was seeing it, and whatever they put in her head kept her from saying it. She didn't think she'd ever felt so useless before.

She barely even had a second to understand that the boy with the messy blonde hair was Newt before he crushed her against him. "I don't bloody care how you got here," he said against her cheek – and he didn't in that moment, he was too relieved to be seeing her to give any thought to what it meant. He was so utterly happy at seeing her, having spent every second since he'd left drowning in worry and whether he should go back, that he momentarily forgot about the Grievers.

But it was as though his joy was known and was being spit upon, because at the moment the sound of machines whirring to life surrounded them and drowned their ears in a deafening fear.

He pulled her behind him and turned with wide eyes toward the swarm of Grievers. "Go with Teresa and Chuck," he told her, nudging her to the hole in the wall where Thomas had told the two to go. "Eleanor," he said firmly, a warning etched in his voice as his hand pushed her gently.

She wanted to tell him no, that she wasn't going to go in there; but somewhere in her Bliss induced mind she knew taking his attention away from the monsters that were descending upon them would probably kill him. And so when Chuck reached out to take her hand and pull her after him she let him, feeling the tremor in his grasp as he pulled her deeper into the darkness of the tunnel. She knew everything about the room she was now standing in – about the long black endless hall with the door to the lab on the other side. This was the place Thomas had brought her before Teresa hit her over the head. So why didn't Thomas remember that, and why she could open her mouth but not say the words that this wasn't the end, it wasn't even the beginning, it was just a continuation of what they've been doing.

She turned at the sound of yelling and the Griever's roaring – echoing in the black room it was unbearable. All she could think of, which it was a surprise she could even think with sound stabbing into her brain and squeezing in her bones, was one of those hideous creatures killing Newt. The image of it impaling his body, its teeth tearing into him, its claws tearing him apart, was all that her mind would let her think of. She slid down the wall until she was nearly a puddle on the floor, hearing Teresa say something about a code, hearing the boys outside yelling as the Grievers attacked. And she wondered if maybe it wasn't a bad thing, maybe it'd be better for them all to just die here – anything was better than sitting alone in that room with nothing but her own tangled mind to keep her company, at least until she was brought in for tests that somehow only got harder. Maybe dying wouldn't be so bad.

And then suddenly it was silent; the code typed in, the Grievers shut down, and a loud click of the door down the hall unlocking. She was surprised as she lowered her hands from her ears by how disappointed she felt.

The only person who rushed down the tunnel as fast as Thomas was Newt, and where Thomas went right to Teresa and Chuck Newt went left to where Eleanor was pulling herself off the floor to rush into his arms. She didn't know if she was just scared, or if she was filled with relief at seeing him – as she'd imagined how much easier death would be she'd forgotten it meant Newt would have to die too. Somehow she couldn't stand the thought of it, the thought of a world without him.

Those were along the lines of Newt's own thoughts; there'd been several times he'd thought they would all die. But he didn't see death as pragmatic, not in the way she did – and so it had scared him rather than relieved him. And it had scared him all the more that he'd die without ever telling her he loved her, because subtext and subtlety were lost on her.

They stood wound in each other's arms barely breathing from how tightly their chests were pressed together, clinging to the comfort that existed in the space between them. Only they didn't have time to stand around and let Newt and Eleanor calm down together, didn't have a second to wait to slow their breathing – escape was right there, the Grievers were shut down for who knew how long, and they didn't know where the Creators were and what they were doing now that the Gladers were escaping. "Tell her you love her later," Minho said hitting his shoulder as he looked down the black hall they had to go through.

Newt rolled his eyes though he smiled, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders – feeling her reluctance as she pressed against his side. "Let's get out of here."

"Where do we go?" Minho asked knowing there would be another door in this dark room, and why wouldn't it be down the hallway that seemed to swallow all fragment of light.

Eleanor looked up at Newt unhappily when no one answered. "Is this really what we want?" she asked not knowing what to do.

He looked down at her finding he was as confused as he'd been at her refusal in the Glade – she knew something, there were thoughts in her head she was having trouble verbalizing – but the Glade wasn't home, it wasn't even safe. "Yes," he told her without a shred of doubt.

He could see in her eyes that wasn't what she wanted to hear and he felt her dismay as her shoulders slumped. "A door unlocked down that way," she said looking to the hall Minho stood at the threshold of.

They all turned to her surprised, and glad because in the chaos of it all no one else had heard what she had. "Well – let's go," Minho said, and without waiting for a response he stepped into the darkness and began feeling his way.

Still looking down at her woeful face he nodded before turning to the other Gladers and ushering them after Minho, still holding her against him, until it was them and Thomas and Teresa. She hadn't realized how few Gladers had gone with Thomas, not knowing how many had died the night before or on the way to the Griever Hole, not knowing Jeff had been among them and had been killed – it'd would've broken her heart. He'd been the closest thing to a brother she'd ever known, besides Gally.

"I'll go last," Thomas said, nodding for them to go ahead of him and Teresa.

The further they went in the hall the closer Eleanor folded herself against Newt's side, remembering walking the same corridor with Thomas' arm around her shaking shoulders before he'd given her his sweater. She didn't want to be there, to be walking closer to Janson and the scientists – but Newt had sounded so sure in his wanting to do this, so adamant about _this_ being the way out. So she let him lead her, feeling the same want to lie down immobile now that the panic had gone. Her mind was slowly relaxing but her body refused, a hand wrapping around her wrist rubbing the place restraints had once bruised. Slowly, gently, her grasp on reality began slipping. And then just like that, she was gone.

Newt looked down at her before taking her through the door, expecting another refusal, though what he was met with the sight of her emotionless face and that odd smile. He didn't understand what'd happened, it was like she had a brief moment of clarity and then she was gone again. And so he pulled her along with him into the room, sucking in a breath at the sight of the dead men and women – the Creators.

Locked away behind a thick wall of Blissful fog Eleanor saw everything, could think about it all – as slow as thoughts were to her – but she couldn't respond. She didn't even really want to, she just wanted to lie down like the scientists were. But one thought shone clear in her head, penetrating the fog like a beacon. _They're not dead, it's just a trick._

* * *

><p><em>Hey guys, sorry for not updating yesterday - life got a little busy on Thursday. But coming with the second book, because I am doing the second book, the chapters will be shorter. A lot shorter, like under a thousand words shorter<em>(and you'll start to understand why that is at the end of next chapter, which will be on Monday)<em> So it'll be a lot easier for me to balance work and school and updating daily. And then the chapters will go back to being the two to three thousand words I normally do when I get to book three, because I'm doing book three too. _


	20. holding hands

Eleanor let Newt lead her through the hall that looked more like a battlefield - there were bodies strewn on the floor, blood caking the walls, bullet holes ripped through glass and flesh leaving destruction in their wake. She saw all of this, her eyes might've been staring blankly ahead of her but she understood what she was seeing and she knew it wasn't good; everything that happened now was just part of the trick. They'd probably be rescued only for their saviours to be part of WICKED as well. It was never gonna end.

Though all of her panic and trepidation melted away when Newt guided her through the door and she saw the rows of screens lining the walls. There were images of the Glade through the Beetle Blade's eyes, a brain scan, some screens like that looked like the camera had been broken - these were familiar to her, how many times she'd sat in front of one following Mr. Janson's instructions.

Newt was so numb with shock he didn't feel her slip from his side, he barely even noticed as he stood realizing what he thought was him living wasn't even real. What he did notice was movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned to see Eleanor sitting in a chair in front of a monitor; her back was straight and her face was now pensive, and her finger was poised to push one of the two buttons on the screen below the image it showed. He remembered Thomas saying they'd been testing her, and this looked like a test - she looked at the image and she pressed either the right button or the left - what he didn't understand was why it was there, as though it'd been set up specifically for her to see. Before he could think more on it a sudden unfamiliar voice startled him and he turned to see a video of a woman - an actual adult - and the lab they were standing in behind her, except everyone was alive.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Ava Paige. I'm the director of the operations of the World in Catastrophe Killzone Experiment Department."

Eleanor's spine tightened at the voice, knowing exactly who Chancellor Paige was. It didn't break through the fog in her mind telling her to stop what she was doing, that nothing was real and the test wasn't important. What the sound of that woman's voice did to Eleanor was increase the speed in which she answered the questions, as though she and Mr. Janson were monitoring every fraction of detail about how her mind worked.

Right for yes it was real, left for it wasn't - she went through equations and photographs and sentences, and she didn't get a single one wrong. She knew wherever Mr. Janson was, because he wasn't here, he was receiving the records of her answers; and it served to make her work harder to prove she was okay. She always had to prove she wasn't crazy.

And even then, flying through image after image, Eleanor still listened to what Chancellor Paige was saying; pretending like she was sad to not have met the Gladers, as though she wasn't alive at that very second. Eleanor even smiled at hearing Chancellor Paige say there was a reason for everything, knowing she couldn't be trusted.

_Dr. Ava Paige is lying._

Eleanor read those words on the screen wondering what they meant and the intention that lay behind them, and then she read them again. The answer was yes, Chancellor Paige wasn't sad to not have met them nor did she regret anything WICKED had done. But saying yes meant telling them she knew, and there was something almost scary in doing that.

And as always when she took too long to answer a timer began, counting down ten seconds before she was marked wrong. So she pressed left for it was real. And then she waited tensely to be told she was wrong. But all she was given was another statement

_Mr. Janson is lying._

It wasn't even a thought to her as she moved her finger to the right, not even stopping to think that he was the one who lied to her the most – if there was anyone who had to believe they had her trust, it was him. Though that wasn't to say a part of her didn't trust him, or at least wanted to – for all but seven years of her life he was the only person who spoke to her; not the guards, not Teresa, not Chancellor Paige. They spoke about her, with her present, but not to her. Even that was a test, to force her to depend on Mr. Janson for all her human needs – social interactions, a parent, a friend, the need to be touched.

He'd been the most important person to her; she'd idolized and feared him. Of course she hadn't known any better, not until Thomas had been introduced to her and she'd seen what actual kindness and friendship were. She was completely crazy and he'd continued to visit her and read, or talk, or just sit beside her. Thomas had changed everything.

She was so lost in her thoughts, new memories surfacing about Mr. Janson and exactly who he'd been to her, that she didn't realize the video had stopped playing and the others were now talking amongst each other – she hadn't even heard the echo of the gunshot before the video cut out that had shocked everyone else. She was completely lost in the routine of taking one of these tests; it was too easy for her fall back into, so grounded in her everyday life that it was almost comforting to be doing it again. And so it was such a surprise to see another hand on the screen that she didn't react at first, not until their finger deliberately pressed the wrong button.

"The bloody shuck was that?" Newt cried at the sudden images that flashed across the screen before a new question settled waiting to be answered. They'd been so quick he didn't know what he'd seen, until he thought about it – he could very clearly remember a woman with her mouth wide open screaming, those same dark veins covering her body as the man from the video they'd just watched. It was almost sickening.

Thomas stared fascinated at the screen before doing it again, seeing a different succession of images just as sick and diseased as the ones before. "That's how they did it," he said more to himself than the others around him who were still so lost from what they'd just seen in Dr. Paige's video to pay attention.

Except for Newt, whose focus was now solely on Eleanor, and where she currently sat with Thomas pressed against her back – and somehow, regardless of what they'd just been through and how many of their friends had died, he felt that hot flush in his chest at seeing Thomas so close to her and even more that she sat comfortably against him. "How they did what?" he asked hating when he remembered that Thomas had known for four years.

"Remember I said they made her think she was crazier than she was," he said looking to Newt until he nodded, and then he turned back to the screen to see Eleanor quickly answering the next question before he could. "This is how. Every time she gets one wrong they show her images of people infected with the Flare, conditioning her brain to associate being wrong with the disease."

Newt didn't find that as interesting as Thomas, as satisfying to finally have an answer for that question. Ten years. This had been ten years of her life, and his heart was suddenly broken as he looked at her to see her still tapping the screen. He was suddenly struck with the urge to hold her, to be back in the Glade lying on the grass staring at the stars with her lying over his chest – he realized she'd really never known a life better than that. It was no wonder she hadn't wanted to leave.

"You said she was sick," Minho said remembering what Thomas had said earlier about her. "Does she have that disease, the Flare?"

Thomas nodded unhappily, not liking the thought of those black veins threaded in her skin – knowing that thought was killing Newt – before turning back to Eleanor wondering how he was supposed to make her stop.

Newt had already knew how, which was simply telling her she was done for that day because he knew she'd listen. Only before he could reach for her Thomas slammed his hand over the monitor as the images of Cranks flashed on the screen. Newt didn't even have to reach for her, she stood and backed away, recoiling against him. "What happened?" he asked as he held her; unable to stop the satisfaction at knowing she'd come to him instead of Thomas.

Thomas stared at the screen wanting it to shut off; seeing a picture of Newt's face now waiting to be answered whether he was real or not – it was all just sick. "Keep an eye on her," he told Newt. "They just told her I wasn't real." There was something so wrong with saying that, to say they had done anything – they were lying dead on the floor, it should be over. But there was something else going on, and he couldn't shake the feeling that they were still being watched.

"What does that bloody mean?" Newt asked not realizing he'd tightened his arms around her – not noticing that the Gladers who'd been closest to her had stepped closer as though to protect her.

"I don't know," Thomas said shaking his head, lost in the utter chaos of everything to think clearly. "But let's get out of here."

"No."

Eleanor turned just like the others had at the sound of Gally's voice, only hers were the only hopes crushed at seeing he'd been stung. Everything after that was just a blur. Newt had pulled her behind him possessive and protective, and Winston had a hand around her arm knowing she liked the shank that stood holding a gun. He wouldn't put it past her to try to step forward, and with the crazed way Gally kept saying they had to go back to the Glade Winston wouldn't put it past _him_ to shoot her.

She'd always hated yelling; loud noises in general. Ten years in WICKED's equivalent of a mental institution with rarely ever a person yelling, at least not down her hall; it'd normally always been so quiet. Even Mr. Janson's voice had been quiet, a soft intimate whisper – though she always responded better to gentleness, and so he'd made his voice as gentle as he could.

So when Gally came in with his voice raised to a yell, aiming the gun at Thomas with a shaky hand, causing the others to raise their voices in fear as they tried to calm him – she got lost in the noise. She could nearly feel their voices as they were sticking to her skin, and she curled in on herself tightening her shoulders and reaching her hands to her ears.

Though the sight of Gally over Newt's shoulder completely stilled her; one second he'd been standing holding the gun, and then she blinked and suddenly there was a spear in his chest. Her mind was so numb in that moment she didn't hear the deafening boom of the gun discharging or Thomas screaming as Chuck died, the Bliss was temporarily ineffective from such a strong surge of emotion, and all thoughts were halted. She stared not knowing what she was feeling as Gally fell lifelessly to the floor, having never felt such immeasurable loss.

Newt knew exactly what she felt when he finally turned to her, having stood too shocked to comprehend what'd just happened before he remembered her. The sight he was met with was Winston staring wide eyed at Gally's corpse still holding Eleanor's arm, only now she'd wilted to the floor and sat staring opened mouth at the body of a boy who'd been her closet friend. The pain on her face mirrored the hurt in his chest when he'd watched Alby get taken by a Griever – it was a feeling he never wanted her to know. "Hey," he said quietly as he lifted her off the floor. Watching tears glisten in her dark eyes when she finally looked at him, and he wrapped his arms around her when she reached for him.

She stood in his arms wishing the Bliss would come in and make everything foggy, force all her feelings into corners where they couldn't reach her; anything to make the knife in her heart lessen. But for some reason it wouldn't; she was feeling too much, the synapses in her brain were firing too quickly to be slowed down.

She shrank against Newt when suddenly a symphony of voices were yelling as soldiers flooded the room and swarmed around them, ushering them toward the glass doors. "We don't have time explain," one of them said in a strained voice. "Just follow me and run like your life depends on it. Because it does." If not for the several other men behind the Gladers herding them back into the hall, they might've just stood there in a baffled shock.

As it were Newt grabbed Eleanor and pulled her after him, feeling every muscle in her body resisting as she tried to pull away. But his grip held firm as he ran with the others, not having time for her refusals.

He wasn't the only one who was quickly growing tired of how much time she wasted; Minho, who'd been running behind Newt, quickly grabbed her and wrapped an arm around her waist forcing her feet off the ground. "Get it together, She-bean," he told her as he continued running through the hall now holding her.

That was when the Bliss was finally triggered, when her mind panicked and the stress became too much – and he felt her slowly go limp against him, and he was honestly thankful for it. At least until he saw her face when he set her down, which was now blank – no hint of a smile on her face. "Shuck it, not again," he sighed wondering if she was even worth it.

Newt pushed Minho toward the helicopter they'd been led to and forced Eleanor inside before he climbed in after her. She sat between Thomas and Newt, neither of whom said a word – none of them did. They were all empty after the day's events, a day which felt years longer than only the few hours that it was – how many of their friends they'd lost, the life they'd once lived as shucked as it'd been there was at least some sense to be found, now they were in a world ruined by disease.

She turned to Newt once as they flew to who knows where and said three words with such sadness and despair etched in her voice he honestly thought they'd made a mistake leaving. "You're killing me," she told him. Her face made no change from the soft, almost sleepy way she looked, but her voice held the proof she was still in there. And before he could respond she turned away and stared at the space in front of her.

After almost an hour the helicopter landed and the kids were led into a large building through the front door and up a flight of stairs, then into a huge dormitory with a series of bunk beds lined up along one of the walls. They all stared in wonder at the colors – the Glade had been so grey and bleak, everything here was bright – all except Thomas, who could only see Chuck behind his eyes.

Newt didn't realize he was holding Eleanor, the feel of her was so natural against him, until she was pulled away from him. "What are you doing?" he demanded at the sight of a man checking her over – turning her head this way and that, sweeping back her hair to look at the back of her neck, pulling up the sleeves of her shirt until he found a small bruise where a needle had been injected.

"She was drugged, we need to flush it out of her system," was the man's short answer.

Eleanor, who previously had given no sign she was aware of anything, moved away from the stranger and stepped into Newt's awaiting arms. "Don't let them take me," she whispered in his ear, pleading with him as best she could not to let her go – she'd never see him again if he did.

Newt held her having given no thought to letting her out of his sight. "I can take care of her just fine," he said firmly.

The man opened his mouth to say something but he scoffed instead before walking toward a woman and talking with her briefly, causing her to smile sympathetically as she made her way to the two kids. "We're going to give her an I.V. with basically water in it, and by tomorrow morning she should be as good as new," the woman explained pleasantly looking at Newt, knowing this boy's word would affect the girl's actions. "She's been given the Bliss, its effects will last for several days after admission; she needs this. When did you notice a change in her behavior?"

Newt opened his mouth to say a few days ago but Minho beat him to it; "After last night." Newt could hardly believe it'd really only been one day. But it only further proved the woman's point; Eleanor wasn't going to get better soon, and they needed her better.

The woman turned to Eleanor and smiled gently. "It's just one sleep," she told the untrusting girl. "You'll close your eyes and when you open them it'll be morning and you'll be right back with him."

Eleanor wanted to yell liar, wanted to scream it at the top of her lungs because nothing she said was real – nothing about any of this was real. But she said nothing, her mouth wouldn't listen to her and so she sat screaming in her mind.

Newt looked at Minho when the other boy nudged him, and he sighed heavily before unwinding his arms from around Eleanor. "One night," Newt told her. "It'll be okay, everything'll be fine." He was lying through his teeth, he didn't want this, he didn't want her anywhere other than by his side. But they didn't know what was coming next and she needed to be able to think on her own. As much as it hurt him he let her go, let another hand rest on the small of back leading her away – and he met her eyes when she looked back at him and felt her look of betrayal like a knife in his chest. The moment the door closed, stealing her from his sight, he regretted ever agreeing to them taking her; the fear of never seeing her again swelling in him until he was drowning.

"Hey," Minho said clapping him on the shoulder. "Stop worrying shuck-face, we're in the same building she'll be fine."

Newt wanted to believe him, wanted it more than anything because he could feel the worry gnawing at him relentlessly – it was a feeling that wouldn't go way no matter how he would try to sleep even though he was utterly exhausted.

And he was right to worry, he was right to regret letting them take her out of his sight – something Thomas had warned him against. Because the moment the door closed a hand clamped over Eleanor's mouth and a needle was jammed in her neck; she barely had even a moment to panic before her blinking deepened and she wilted to the floor as unconsciousness devoured her.


	21. while the walls come tumbling down

"Come on, Tommy, we gotta talk to this kid."

Thomas turned to Newt so shocked by how calm he was when Teresa was missing. First they were woken by Cranks clawing at the windows, then they saw the people who'd rescued them hanging from the ceiling, then the sign **Teresa Agnes. Group A. Subject A1. The Betrayer** had been placed outside the room she wasn't in, and then some random boy showed up instead. "She was one of us, Newt. Don't you care about finding her."

Newt groaned raising his eyes to the ceiling, though he quickly looked away at the sight of the hanging bodies. "Of course I care about finding your bloody girlfriend," he said almost harshly. "Teresa's not here, but that shank is," he pointed to the room behind him where the boy Aris was with the other Gladers, waiting for Newt and Thomas. "Lets talk to him and find out what the shuck is goin' on."

That was when Thomas finally had it; he'd lost Chuck and now Teresa was missing, it was all too much. And then he remembered why it was such a shock that Newt was so calm, so logical – he should be running around searching for another room as worried and afraid as Thomas. "What about Eleanor? They said they'd put her with Teresa and we'd see them both in the morning," Thomas said feeling spit fly out of his mouth by how desperate he was to find Teresa, and it made him cruel. "Did you not notice she was missing, or did you decide to stop caring when they took her away?"

For several moments Thomas saw nothing but white as he lay sprawled on the floor, and before he could even comprehend that Newt had just punched him Newt grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back to his feet. The sight of Newt's face, which wasn't as angry as his fist had been, brought Thomas' panicking mind to a halt. He looked so broken as he stared at Thomas guiltily.

Newt hadn't been calm since their rescuers took Eleanor. He'd searched for her face among the bodies on the ceiling the moment he saw them, not knowing if he felt relief or not when he didn't see her – and he knew at the sight of the note on Teresa's door, which said nothing about Eleanor, that she wasn't there either. "I knew the moment I bloody let them take her I wasn't seein' her again."

Thomas could nearly feel regret pressing down on his shoulders at throwing Eleanor in his face when he heard Newt's hopeless voice – he knew Newt was blaming himself, he knew how painful that blame was. "We'll find her," Thomas said though he didn't know if he believed it. "We'll find them both."

Newt scoffed bitterly shaking his head. "You don't even remember how you got her to the Maze, Tommy," he said knowing they wouldn't just find her – she was probably miles away, probably scared and wanting him. "She knew," he said, filled such hatred for himself he wanted to punch Thomas again just to have something to do. "She was trying to tell me and I didn't listen. And I just, I just _let_ them"

For a moment Thomas honestly thought Newt would cry, he certainly looked like he would as he stared at the floor like the world had ended. But he took a breath and squared his shoulders, looking to Thomas without meeting his eyes. "They're waiting for us." And with that Newt turned on his heel and walked back into the room, leaving Thomas no choice but to follow.

…

The sound of a heavy door unlocking stirred Eleanor from her sedative-induced sleep, and she laid blinking at the stark white ceiling above her trying to remember where she'd been before her eyes had closed. The memory seemed so far away, and she was so cold and tired she just wanted to close her eyes again and sleep.

"Hello dear."

Her eyes shot open at the sound of that undeniably familiar soft voice, and she sat up to see Mr. Janson standing by the now closed door. "No," she whimpered shaking her head, trying to pull herself back on the bed, seeing the hundreds of tallies she'd carved on the walls. She wanted to get further away from him, to shrink in a corner and disappear - she wanted Newt. But she could barely even sit up all the way for the restraints once more around her ankles and wrists. Panic seeped into her bloodstream and she pulled against the cuffs not knowing if she was actually screaming or if it was just in her head.

He stood silently watching her aimlessly trying to free herself, seeing she was doing little more than working herself into a fit – which is exactly what he'd expected and so he stood with a syringe in his pocket.

She eventually laid back having exhausted what little energy she'd had, her breaths coming in short hysteric pants. "Where is he? Where's Newt?" she demanded without looking at Mr. Janson; it was hard enough not to cry from such extreme hopelessness, looking at his falsely kind face would send tears spilling from her eyes.

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about."

She looked at him then, her eyes wide in baffled anger to see his perfectly confused face. "Stop it," she spit laying back on the bed.

But Janson continued anyway. "There is no boy named Newt," he told her gently, as though he were trying to pacify an irrational child.

"You're lying," she yelled, feeling tears well in her eyes.

"Eleanor," he said soothingly as he walked to where she lay on the bed, watching her thrash against the restraints yelling no over and over again. "Eleanor, dear, I need you to listen now."

She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and scream and never stop until Newt found her, or Thomas or Minho or any of the others who'd take her back to Newt. She knew this would happen, the moment they'd first talked about leaving the Glade she knew. But what good had knowing been, she hadn't been able to actually say anything; and now she was back in the room it'd taken ten years to escape from, except there was no Thomas to help her. She didn't even know where she was, didn't know where Newt and the others had been last night either – all she knew was that they weren't in the same place. They weren't gonna find her

Yet for all that – all the anger and betrayal, the bitterness and fear, the desperation, the sadness – she still turned to Mr. Janson like she always did waiting for what he'd say, and knowing she'd hate him for it but she waited all the same.

He smiled gently running a hand over her hair. "Good girl," he soothed, waiting until her breathing began to slow before he next spoke. "Sweetheart, you've been in a coma for several weeks; Newt isn't real, nothing was. It was all a dream."

Staring up at his falsely caring face, the words _Newt isn't real _played like a song through her mind until she couldn't see straight. _It was all a dream_ And then she screamed.


	22. if they do

_Where are you? Come find me. Please don't leave me here._

It played like a mantra through her head, over and over. She was a broken record stuck on the image of a boy she loved desperately. And she did love him.

Nothing was right. From her being taken far away from him to the way she could barely breathe; it was like her heart didn't know what to do without the rhythm of his heartbeat to guide her.

And so she laid there crying for days on end, not knowing if she actually cried out for Newt or if his name was only said in her head. She hated when she was sedated, it always made her weepy and incredibly needy. So much so that after a few days she stopped screaming for Mr. Janson to leave her alone when he'd come in – screams that always ended in her being sedated because it was too much stress for her brain.

All he'd been met with was her shrill voice wrapped tight in loathing and despair telling him to get out. He'd quickly grown tired of it, she was as much of a nuisance as the children apart of the Trials; ungrateful whining brats.

Though he often had to convince himself Eleanor meant nothing to him, she was just another part of their research – but it wasn't true. She came to them as an orphan, having watched her mother turn into a Crank. A very shy, very smart, lovely seven year old girl; it'd been a shame she wasn't immune. But she was the perfect candidate, her Killzone had been completely intact – and it had been up until the months before she was put with Group A, that was the start of it all; including the boy's plan to break her into the Maze. For ten years Janson had been the one caring for her; and she'd once been such a wonderful, kind girl. No matter how he tried he couldn't say a part of him had never cared for her, as much as he wished he could.

Five days after she'd been brought back, after both Groups A and B had begun the new Trials, Janson opened her door and was greeted with silence. He gave her several moments to decide whether she wanted to continue her string of stubbornness or if she'd finally calmed down, and he smiled pleased when her silence continued. "Hello dear," he said in greeting as he'd always done.

She continued waiting quietly, curious what lie he was going to give her, and for how long he'd wait this time before giving her a sedative. But he surprised her by undoing her restraints and letting her sit up, and then he surprised her more by sitting beside her on the bed. Something was wrong if he was being this nice to her, he'd stopped this charade years ago. It unsettled her. And her stomach was left in horrible knots when she looked down at herself to see she was wearing a white gown – the kind she'd been wearing for years.

Everything was wrong.

He smiled gently as he brushed the hair out of her face. "Are you ready to listen?"

"I won't believe you," she said without missing a beat. And she was so sure of herself that she gave no pause at her rudeness.

There was a strain in the way his mouth froze over his smile, as though her words had hurt him. "Nor would I expect you to," he told her softly before he quietly steeled himself to tell her what had happened – to break her heart.

She didn't believe his façade for a second; he was acting, it was just another trick and she wouldn't fall for it. She could remember everything about the Glade – she could still feel Newt against her. No matter what he said it wouldn't change anything, her memories were real and his words weren't.

"You've been given a number of drugs, one of which you were made aware of."

She knew which one he was talking about – the Bliss. She didn't, however, know about any other drugs besides tranquilizers.

"We've been trying to keep your brain activity minimal, even during emotional responses we've tried to hinder all stress in the hopes to preserve your Killzone."

That was true. Oh she hated herself so much for admitting it. That was the purpose of the sedatives, to stop her from working herself up – which she'd done often. Why was he doing this, why he was being so honest and reasonable? And why was her was her stupid mind falling for it?

"The next step in our research was to remove all drugs from your system and see how it impacted the rate of the Flare. We didn't know what to expect, whether the disease would progress at an elevated rate or if perhaps years of medication had slowed it down. We honestly didn't know. However, we didn't take into consideration the dependency your body had developed. And we take full responsibility." He placed his hand over hers and looked at her with eyes full of guilt. "It wasn't our intention, it wasn't _my_ intention to ever cause you harm. Your body shut down after we let the drugs pass through your system; your brain had become so dependent on them it couldn't function at the normal rate to keep you conscious. Please believe me when I say we tried everything to fix what we'd done. But after weeks of you lying comatose with very little brain activity, we readministered the Bliss. And after a few days you began to come out of it; you weren't completely lucid but you would respond."

She stared at him with wide eyes not knowing what to think, unable to string together a coherent thought. He was lying. He had to be. But it was so, logical. He was so calm, so truthful as he sat telling her they'd made a mistake which had hurt her. But it wasn't true. It wasn't. It wasn't.

"You were very upset those few days. You wouldn't let me anywhere near you. 'You want what they want,' you kept saying. I didn't understand it," he said with a half-hearted shrug, looking at her face to see it draining of color as her eyes widened further. And he sharpened his voice. "You had also taken up the habit of scratching yourself. I undid the restraints because I thought you had calmed. But make no mistake, if this continues we'll have to tie you down."

He may as well have ripped her heart from her chest and showed it to her. _If this continues we'll have to tie you down,_ those had been Jeff's exact words the day before they'd left the Maze. "No," she whimpered pulling her hand from his grasp as she stood, and she shrunk against the wall when he rose to his feet as well. "You're a liar," she sobbed.

He shook his head sighing as he opened the door and nodded to the guards that stood outside waiting. She screamed at the sight of them, knowing exactly what they'd do, and she thrashed against their hands as they dragged her back to the bed and forced the cuffs around her wrists and ankles. His face was forlorn as he left her, hearing her screams weaken when the sedative took effect. She didn't believe him, he hadn't thought she would – she'd always been stubborn. But he'd seen it in her eyes, the first sliver of doubt. And it made him smile.

* * *

><p><em>So this is basically what the next three to four chapters will be like, and they probably won't be much longer than this. I'm pretty excited about it thought because now I can delve into what she was like before she woke up in the Maze, and hopefully show her complete despair at not just being back with Janson but also being away from Newt. And I'll really only show Newt's side of the story possibly one more time, just to show how he's fairing with her being gone. So please bear with me these next chapters, I promise it will pay off. <em>

_On a side note, I was rereading the Scorch Trials and found myself loving Jorge all over again - and the actor that's going to play him is Giancarlo Esposito, who I'm just in love with. So what I'm trying to say is that I got the idea for a Jorge/OC fic, which I don't think there are any, and there might be a little triangle with Minho added in the mix. But I was wondering how many people would be interested in reading it (to decide whether or not I'd actually write it) and if there is anyone who would be I'd work on it after I finished this one._


	23. I'll be right behind you

The passing days were a blur – a drug induced blur she wasn't sure she cared to wake from. Time meant nothing to her. Mr. Janson would open the door and tell her it was a new day before carving a tally on the wall, and she'd lay on her back with her head turned away from him; not even caring enough to jerk her arm against the restraint.

_Newt. Thomas. Gally. Jeff. Minho. Alby. Chuck. Clint. Nick. Winston. Frypan. Zart._

The list went on twenty or more names. Over and over again she went through the list of Gladers – there was a face and a memory to go with each one. And they were real._ I'm crazy, and they're real_; she said that to herself quite a few times as well.

When she'd reach the end, the name of a boy who'd died before she'd gotten to the Glade, she returned to Newt. It was the only time she paused, without fail. Even his name sent a surge of warmth through her veins, a small smile curling on her mouth she couldn't hold but a second. The picture of his face, of his warm voice and his gentle hands holding her so tight she thought she'd break, it brought her a fleeting moment of peace – and if she tried hard enough she could imagine his shoulder against hers and their fingers entwined binding them together.

He blamed himself, she knew he did. And he was to blame. If he'd just listened to her, really listened like only he would, then she'd still be with him. She'd be safe and there and loved, she wouldn't be tied down to a bed fighting against lies that tried so hard to be truths. She wouldn't cry every night as he lay awake too troubled with the thought of surviving and if it was even worth it anymore because he was never gonna bloody find her. And it was all his fault.

And she wished, so much, to tell him it was okay. To tell him he could keep hating himself for letting her go because she loved him enough for the both of them.

_And Thomas and Gally and Jeff and Minho and Alby and Chuck_

and on and on she went. And without fail she'd circle back to Newt and that moment would come, that brief moment where her heart stuttered in joy, the one that kept her breathing. The moment that kept her sane.

I love my love with an H

…

No matter how she tried to pretend like she could live long enough to wait for Newt to find her, because he was going to find her, any crutch she had was mercilessly ripped away.

"Eleanor," Janson said from the chair he occupied beside the bed. He didn't exactly visit her everyday; she thought she'd been there twenty days when in fact she'd only been there a week. Even that was a lie. He'd come at odd hours marking a new day, once he didn't come for over forty-eight hours. By the time the boys found her, because of course they would, he'd convince her it'd almost been a year. "I have something I need you to see."

"No please," she said softly, in a queer broken voice. She didn't want to see anything from him, all he had were lies. And they'd muddle the truth she knew and make her doubt.

He sat quietly for several minutes waiting for to turn to him regardless of whether she wanted to or not; she was so willing to do what she was told. But the girl before him was scared, and that fear made her irrational. And so he gently pulled her chin so she was looking at him, giving her the option of doing as told or he'd find the head restraint. When he saw that she wouldn't try to turn away again he turned his pad toward her and played the video.

She was laying unconscious on a bed with several machines hooked up to her monitoring all of her vitals. A woman in a white coat came in to check on her, pulled back her eyelids and shone a light in her eyes before leaving.

Mr. Janson pulled up another video showing the same thing, only it was a different scientist who came. And then another video and then another, each with a new person sometimes more than one. He then showed her the number of videos he had available for her to watch; stopping with the last one which of her staring blankly at the ceiling immobile. There were over a hundred – one for every day she thought she'd been in the Glade.

_I was in the Glade,_ she told herself fiercely. There it was again, that doubt he was trying to wedge between what she knew was real and what he was telling her wasn't. She sat up as much as she could with her wrists locked firmly against the bed, and she pulled back her lips until she was almost snarling. "I hope you feel a Griever rip every cell in your body in half you fucker."

And with those savage words she laid back down and turned her head away from his appalled face, refusing to listen to another word.


	24. so sad we almost made it

_I have two literary 'easter eggs' in this chapter - one from the Bell Jar, and one from the Fault in Our Stars. Kudos to you if you're able to find them :)_

* * *

><p>Eleanor had been so happy to have finally made Mr. Janson stop with his lies, to have actually said what she wanted instead of biting her tongue. It was victory. But it was short lived. She was left completely alone with nothing but herself to keep her company, and her regret was almost immediate. It wasn't long after he had slammed the door that the silence began grating on her, turning into such a terrible buzzing she thought her brain would explode.<p>

After so many months in the Glade, which was never silent, she'd forgotten how cruel it could be – it wasn't the silence of silence, it was her own silence. There was no victory in loneliness.

She began waiting for when Mr. Janson would open the door and step into the room, adding another splash of color in the cold white room that wasn't her. But he had adopted his own stubbornness; he refused to speak to her. He'd come in and carve another line on the wall, and then he'd leave. He gave her nothing; no words, no looks, no touches. She was alone and empty. And after weeks her hatred for him grew. By the time he carved the ninety-first day she couldn't look at him without wanting to scream, to yell curses and abhorrence. She wanted to bite him.

She violently recoiled from that thought, knowing there was something very wrong with it. That there was something very wrong with her. They'd only removed her restraints once in those endless three months, and barely ten minutes after they left her alone she began scratching at her skin – her nails trying to dig into her flesh and pull herself apart.

It was no surprise when two guards came to escort her to a lab, it was long overdue. And she had a very vivid thought that this was the lab they'd brought her to when they put something in her head – and she knew there was something, it'd kept her from actually telling Newt the Griever Hole wasn't an exit, and she could feel it then gnawing at her brain. It was almost a relief for it to be taken out, maybe the twitch in her fingers that came when she wanted to tear her flesh open would go away as well.

"Do you know why we're doing this, Eleanor?" a man asked pleasantly holding the mask that would make her sleep as she lay on the table waiting.

"I'm sure you'll tell me," she said snidely. She felt so nasty, she felt so mean. And it felt good.

There was no satisfaction on the doctor's face, only irritation that just made her smile grow. "In all the years I've known you," he said shaking his head. "I suppose it's to be expected, the Flare has progressed rapidly given recent variables."

"Do you really mean it this time?" Eleanor demanded. "Or is this another lie to make me think I'm dying?"

Another spasm in his jaw before he placed the mask over her nose and mouth, forcing cold air into her lungs. "There are memories we believed were too hard for you to bear and so we implanted the Swipe in your brain. But your recent scans have proven that your condition has worsened, Janson has deemed it pointless to keep your past from you. When you wake you'll understand everything we've done for you."

Those were the last words she heard as her eyes began to close – a sudden panic had worked its way in her chest at the realization that she would be completely vulnerable in her unconsciousness. But the last thing she saw, whether it was real or only in her head, was Newt's face – his brows furrowed as though he were worried, his fingers over his mouth as he so often did when he was in deep thought. She tried to reach for him, even call his name as he stood staring worriedly down at her, but she was falling too fast; and as much as she tried she couldn't stay with him. And it tore her heart out because she knew he'd be gone when she woke. She just wanted a minute, a single touch – anything that would keep her going. But the world wasn't a wish granting factory. And her eyes closed regardless.

…

"Newt."

She woke with a start, finding herself suddenly conscious knowing a loud noise had startled her awake. It was the worst way to be woken, her heart a relentless hammer and her mind immediately going to a person in her room trying to kill her. There was a person in her room, though whether he was trying to kill her hadn't been decided.

She laid back with a sigh at seeing Mr. Janson. Though she wasn't left with any urge to lash out verbally or physically – it was strange, she wanted to lay her head on his lap and cry. It took her several minutes to understand why; she would've known it sooner but she'd needed a moment to mourn the absence of Newt. She'd been dreaming of him, of the times they'd laid on the grass talking, or of them wound in each other's arms. Her dreams of the comfort he gave her, the security and warmth, and love. She could've mourned waking up cold and alone for years, but her sluggish mind caught up with reality and an influx of memories suddenly drowned her.

She was no older than six in a pink dress and her hair in pigtails clinging to a woman's legs as they were forced into a bus. She looked back sadly at a crying man; he was her father, and the woman her mother – her nose was sharp, her body small. Eleanor was the spitting image of her mother, and realizing that made her horribly sad. The two of them weren't immune and so they were being forced out of the city, and it'd been her father – the man on his knees crying – who'd turned them in.

It was the day after her seventh birthday when the metaphorical crap hit the fan; her mother had been clawing at her skin talking about the bugs that were crawling beneath it – that their housemate had implanted in her. She'd been so paranoid, and angry. And it only got worse in the coming weeks.  
>Eleanor had woken to screaming one night to see her mother crouched over the woman they lived with, her mother's hands buried deep in the woman's stomach. And she'd turned with a bloody face to her daughter and lunged for her. But a crack of thunder had her mother's neck bending back and her body slumping to the ground where it laid immobile. Her savior had been the husband of the woman her mother killed, and he'd left her at an orphanage where WICKED eventually discovered the little girl with the infinite memory.<p>

That'd been the start of it all. A sad girl with a memory who wouldn't allow her to forget the insanity of her mother in those final moments, knowing that was coming for her – and with the help of Mr. Janson and the other scientists she'd been convinced she was a Crank.

And then Thomas had come and saved her. But he hadn't, and now she realized why he'd apologized for helping her – WICKED _was_ terminating her testing. They weren't gonna kill her, they didn't have to, the Flare would do it for them. The Maze had been the start of her dying, and this cold and lonely room would be the end of it.

"I assume you will believe me when I say these are the scans of your brain," Mr. Janson said frigidly as he turned his pad toward her.

For the first time in almost ten years she was finally being told the truth. And she wished there was a part of her that wanted to fight it; but that was Eleanor, a girl driven mad without the memories to explain why. And she wasn't Eleanor, and she remembered everything. The scans of her deteriorating brain only further solidified what she already knew.

She wasn't a poor crazy girl driven to madness.

There was no lucid for her anymore.

There was no Newt or Thomas or Gally or the Glade.

There was no hope.

She was a Crank.


	25. so sad we had to fade it

As they walked through the desert to the far away cluster of buildings in front of them Thomas found himself suddenly wanting to talk, and he turned to Aris and asked what Group B's Maze had been like; he felt the strangest déjà vu as he listened to the other boy. Everything had been the same, the order the girls had created, that Aris had come up before his allotted time and that it'd triggered the End – the girls found the same thing him and Minho had, the doors stopped closing, the Box stopped coming up, they left the Maze and saw the same video, and then their version of Gally had come and killed Rachel – only their version of Chuck hadn't died saving her.

"Was there another boy?" Thomas asked almost timidly, looking to where Newt limped at the front of the line. He didn't know how Newt would react to hearing any of them talk about her, he didn't think anyone had even mentioned her existence to Aris – they'd all been tiptoeing around it, even Minho. Because it was so obvious Newt was worried about her, was still lost in self hatred at willingly letting her go – he may have seemed calm but he was silently spiraling into losing it. He could barely listen to any of them without getting frustrated, was more irritable than usual – it certainly didn't help with Minho, the designated leader, and his worsening attitude which was starting to grate on Thomas' own nerves.

Aris followed Thomas' gaze to Newt and shook his head. "Nope, we didn't have an Eleanor," he said surprising Thomas with his knowing her name. "He asked the first chance he got. I'll tell you what I told him; there was a storm four months before I got there. A real big one, nearly flooded everything. Never had one before, never had one again."

Thomas contemplated how the equivalent of Eleanor was a storm; if he squinted it almost made sense. She'd shaken the boys by not only being a girl but having come from the Maze, and she'd been mistreated and she was crazy. He knew what WICKED had intended with her, they were monitoring a male's need to protect a female – it was simple nature. That was a variable only Eleanor could enact; everything about her was filled with the need to be protected.  
>A storm would've forced the girls to band together, to protect each other. There was no reason to assume a group of young girls would've cared for Eleanor the same way the boys had – so WICKED had created a variable that would've given similar enough results, stimulated the same parts of their brains as Eleanor had Group A's. In the end Eleanor had been nothing more than a storm.<p>

* * *

><p><em>All of me<em>_  
><em>_why not take all of me_  
><em>Can't you see<em>_  
><em>_I'm no good without you__  
><em>_Take my lips__  
><em>_I want to lose them_  
><em>Take my arms<em>  
><em>I'll never use them<em>  
><em>Your goodbye left me with eyes that cry<em>  
><em>How can I go on without you<em>  
><em>You took the part that once was my heart<em>  
><em>So why not take all of me<br>Why not take all of me_

"Where did you hear that song?" Mr. Janson asked when Eleanor had stopped singing; it'd been as soft and light as her normal speaking voice, breaking off several times in a whisper. It'd been years since she'd sung it, her mind too tangled to make sense of any one memory.

She lay softly on the bed with her hands folded over her stomach, taking the reprieve she was allowed in not being restrained when she was supervised. The dream of outside in the warm sun on prickly grass, and an even warmer body beside her, was slowly fading. Her moments of clarity were few and far between. It seemed like half her days she didn't know what was real, if there were actually bugs beneath her skin, if she was really as cold and agonizingly warm as she felt, if any thought in her head was real or if there someone in her mind making her think terrible things – it wasn't just the want to kill Mr. Janson and any other person that worked for WICKED, she wanted to do awful things to them, to herself. She could feel the need to dig her fingers in her skin and pull at her muscles, feel something wrong in her head as though the Flare were a parasite actually eating her brain. She could feel it. And it drove her to the brink of insanity.

But there were moments, as few and painful as they were, that she remembered everything; what WICKED had done, that most of these feelings were what they had conditioned her to associate with the Flare, that some of it was just the memory of what her mother had become. These were the moments she remembered the Glade, Newt and Jeff and Minho and Alby and the unbearable ache at watching Gally die. All of that was real. And it hurt her so much that she honestly wished it wasn't. She wished she'd imagined it all, what would Newt find when he saw her – a girl whose mind was so far gone she'd look at him and only see someone she wanted hurt.

"Eleanor," Mr. Janson said patiently. The past few days it'd been hard to get any response out of her, at least a coherent one. But that was to be expected now that her chip had been removed and she had access to all of her memories; they were overwhelming her, bleeding together and mingling with reality. "Do you remember where you heard that song?" he asked again, watching her turn to the wall and raise a hand to the white tiles, her fingers running down them as though she were tracing raindrops.

"I was in a car," she said softly. She was staring out of a rain streaked window as they drove through a bleak decaying city, feeling the silence like a living thing with its own heartbeat. Music was crackling in the space between them, a lovely voice dripping with syrup – it sounded like something her mother would've danced with her to. A slow, swaying song.

This was something she'd never given him an answer to, and Mr. Janson sat waiting with more patience than he should've been able to bear as she sang it again – her fingers still drawing on a window only she could see. "Where did you go?" he asked, avoiding the question of who she was with, knowing she wouldn't answer that.

_You took the part that once was my heart_  
><em>So why not take all of me<em>

She surprised him when she turned to him, her hand once more falling to her stomach where it rested with her left. "You don't remember?" she asked with brows furrowed in confusion.

"Eleanor," he said, a familiarity sparking in his brain he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know.

"You called me Diana," she said turning her eyes to the ceiling, once more a little girl clinging to his hand as he led her into a large foreboding building. "Then you brought me here." Her arm extended to the wall beside her, touching it as though it were an old friend – in a way it had been. She'd once had toys in the corner, a table she used to color at – of course those had only been tests. "Now I'm Eleanor." Her arm slipped from the wall and fell with a dull thump to her side. "An Eleanor without her Newt is a sad girl."

He sighed not wanting to have to explain this to her again; she should've given it up already. "You were dreaming, Eleanor," he told her yet another time. "There is no boy named Newt."

She shook her head not wanting to hear that again, her mouth already forming the words 'I know.' The moment she said it, the moment she gave in, she was so afraid it'd be true. _I am so very tired of being all alone here_.

"Eleanor," he said gently, knowing if he pushed her she'd admit it – saying the words was all she needed, she already had the doubt, speaking would solidify it.

Her fingers twitched with the want to scratch at her skin, her body nearly vibrated on the cold metal bed as she tried to bite back a scream. She didn't want to be a Crank, she didn't want any of this. She just wanted to sit on the grass with his arms around her, but his face was starting to blur and it made her want to cry – to cry so much she'd drown in it.

**"**Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?" Eleanor began, her eyes shut tight as she followed the lines on the pages she could very clearly see in her mind.  
>"So she was considering, in her own mind (as well as she could, for the hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid)," it was like Eleanor had finally been able to catch her breath as her mouth formed those familiar words, "whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.<br>"There was nothing so very remarkable in that: nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself "Oh dear!"

"Oh dear! I shall be late!"

Eleanor opened her eyes and turned to see Mr. Janson sitting with the old book in his hand opened to the beginning of the story, and it made her lose her breath at hearing his voice curl around the words she'd locked away in her mind.

He shouldn't have given in. He should've continued pushing her until she finally broke and left her crying strapped down to the bed – she was already so close to believing it, so far past sanity. But something in him had responded to her reciting Lewis Carroll's story, the one he'd given her and once often read to her. She wasn't trying to shut him out, she wasn't being stubborn or insane – she was asking him, begging him, to comfort her in the only way she knew how. And so he read.

"(when she thought it over afterwards it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural)"

…

_Seven Months Later_

Eleanor was startled from sleep by the sound of her door opening. Mr. Janson was coming to mark another day, and he'd sit beside her and ask if she still believed Newt and the Maze were real – after so many weeks, so many long months, she'd finally given up. She didn't have to give up Thomas though, Mr. Janson told her he was in fact real – as was Teresa – but the boy had only observed one of her tests, and then she'd never seen him again. So technically he was real, it was just her memories of him that weren't.

"Eleanor."

She waited rather impatiently for him to come over and remove the cuffs from her wrists, waited to be able to sit up and curl her legs under her. Her mind was so slow and bleary, still half asleep, that she didn't hear the utter relief in the young man's voice – a voice that wasn't Mr. Janson's.  
>"Eleanor," he said again as he moved to where she lay on the bed with a blanket over her, knowing the restraints that were beneath it.<p>

Even then she didn't hear the difference, her memories were too tangled to catch it – all she knew was that the voice was familiar. And since Mr. Janson was the only one who visited her now then it was his.

But it wasn't Mr. Janson's face she saw when she turned to him. It was her blue eyed boy, whose eyes were actually brown. There was the mark on his cheek, the dark hair hanging over his forehead, his warm hand around her wrist as he freed her. It was Thomas. "You found me."

* * *

><p><em>I suppose I should start by warning you guys not to get too excited. Next chapter, so Monday, will end in the same place this one did - only from Thomas' point of view (and Newt's!). Also, it hasn't actually been seven months. From the start of book two to the beginning of book three, it's five weeks. However, she's being led to believe it's a longer time so that she would give up on Newt coming to save her. Just as a clarification, because I'm not sure how clear that's been in the story. <em>


	26. everybody wants to

_This chapter starts in the Scorch Trials in chapter 43. At the line break it's then in the Death Cure in chapter 16. I just wanted you all to know where I was in the story so you wouldn't be confused. Thank you all very much for reading, and I hope you enjoy._

* * *

><p>The sun had trudged halfway to the horizon before Thomas finally fell asleep. He felt a little better in the late evening when Newt shook him awake. Teresa's brief visit to his mind seemed like a dream now; he could almost believe it had never happened.<p>

"Sleep well, Tommy?" Newt asked when Thomas opened his eyes. He was almost so constantly lost in thought of Eleanor, even when they were almost dying, that he'd look at Thomas and have to remind himself she'd been wrong in thinking his eyes were blue. It's what happened in that particular moment as Thomas woke, Newt expected the blue eyes Eleanor had once been waiting for and instead was met with Thomas' brown eyes – and he knelt beside Thomas feeling that familiar pang at knowing she wasn't there. "How's that shoulder?" he asked wanting any moment of reprieve he could get from the bottomless pit in his chest.

Thomas sat up and rubbed his shoulder where he'd been shot. "Feels really good, actually – aches a little, but not much. Hard to believe I was hurting so bad before."

Newt looked around at the Gladers preparing to leave, then back at Thomas. "Feels like we haven't talked much since leaving the bloody dorm. Not much time to sit around and sip tea, I guess," he offered as an excuse rather than the truth. Yes it was true they'd barely had a moment to breathe let alone chat, but Newt had mostly been avoiding talking to Thomas because every time he looked at him Newt was reminded of Eleanor.

"Yeah," Thomas said nodding. He almost knew what Newt was thinking, what the boy was always thinking – he wanted to find Eleanor, he wanted her away from WICKED, he wanted her at his side where he knew she was okay. And Thomas was the only person who knew where she'd been kept, but that memory was buried deep in his mind. And he knew Newt was trying not blame him for that, was trying not to blame Minho – who'd become even more arrogant and almost unbearable – but mostly Newt just blamed himself. There was something in his sad face that made Thomas think of Chuck and the pain he'd felt at his death. Which just made him hate the people behind all this all over again. "I don't see how WICKED can be good."

Newt turned to Thomas with deeply creased brows. "Huh?"

"Remember what Teresa and I had dreamt? Or did you even know about that? Anyway, we both had dreams where someone said WICKED is good. I'm just finding that hard to believe." The sarcasm in his voice wasn't subtle, and he turned to Newt to see a strange smile on his face.

"Well, they just saved your buggin' life." It was almost funny to think of WICKED in terms of good and bad – Newt could almost imagine the way Eleanor would look at Thomas. Her brows would be creased and her pretty mouth would be pursed, wondering if the thoughts in Thomas' mind were as stupid as what had just come out of his mouth; she wouldn't say it, she was too kind for that, but he'd read it in her eyes. That was normally the moment he'd touch her – an arm snaking around her back, his fingers brushing against her hand or her arm, his eyes meeting hers to see a small smile on her face – her absence at his side was unbearable.

Thomas watched that smile, as twisted and weird as it'd been, melt off his face. "Yeah, they're real saints," he said too confused about WICKED having saved his life to think of anything to say to lessen Newt's pain.

The two boys, forced into depending on each other to survive leaving them closer than friends, sat quietly beside each other lost in their separate thoughts about WICKED. But it was Newt who spoke first. "I've been wondering."

Thomas turned to him to see him deep in unhappy thought. "Wondering what?"

"Why they took her," he answered with a half-hearted shrug, unable to bring himself to say her name. He looked at Thomas to see a confused disbelief on his face and Newt shook his head. "I know she wouldn't survive this," he told him almost snidely before he realized he had no reason to be upset with Thomas. "I mean why not take her with Teresa, why take her the bloody second we got to the dorms? And if they were really using her as a, what'd you call 'em?"

"Variable," Thomas answered quietly as he thought about what Newt was asking – Thomas hadn't realized how strange it'd been for her to be taken before Teresa. It would've made sense if they'd taken both girls to a different room to sleep and then they'd wake up and both of them were gone. But they hadn't, they took her literally when they'd gotten to the dorms. As though to say Eleanor was never intended to be one of them. It was insulting how little credit they gave her to the Glade; she'd nurtured all four of the Newbies most especially Chuck, shown all of the Gladers a woman's warm kindness, had cared for them when they were hurt or sick, had even sewn their clothes – she'd reminded them all what it'd been like to have a mother or a sister, and she'd given them all someone to look after when she had her mad moments. She was the girl who'd come from the Maze; she was the embodiment of freedom, she'd unintentionally been Minho's hope.  
><em>But that doesn't make<em> _sense_, Thomas thought. _She didn't come from the exit, she came from an entrance that led them to WICKED. _Thomas' mind cleared as he realized what WICKED had intended when they subtly coerced Thomas into putting her in the Maze. He turned to Newt suddenly finding he was almost excited by his discovery – at having an actual answer. "We're gonna find her," he said without a shred of doubt.

It was several long moments before Newt spoke. "Be glad I didn't punch your bloody lights out," he said bitterly. He was filled with so much anger and hatred for what Thomas had just said, at the sheer amount of pain he felt running through his veins at knowing that wasn't going to happen.

Thomas shook his head having known Newt wouldn't take that well. "Just listen," he told him, looking around them to see most of the Gladers up knowing they'd leave soon. "Minho thought she led to the exit but she led to WICKED. Everything about her leads to them; who had her, who sent her, who she needed protection from, why she was so crazy. She was always meant to lead us to WICKED. No matter where we end up we're gonna look for her because we know they have her, and when she's here she inadvertently led us back. I mean maybe it's just you who'd keep looking for her, but we all liked her," Thomas said suddenly losing his train of thought as something else tickled the back of his mind; maybe she'd been meant specifically for _him, _to lead _him_ back to WICKED.

Newt gave a short humorless laugh. "The Muse," Newt said making Thomas' neck twinge from how fast he'd jerked his head to look at him – there was something so right in those two words. "I've been wondering what her tattoo would've been; if what you said was right, she was our guiding force." It made sense, he wondered if somewhere in the back of his mind he'd known all along they hadn't actually been escaping, if a part of him had been trying to listen to her because she'd been the only one who where they'd end up – none of them listened to her, least of all him, and now she was gone. "It's not just me, you know" he said shaking his head finding he had more questions than answers, at least this he knew. "Minho never liked Teresa, but he searched every crack in those dorms. He wanted to find," he took a breath as to say her name, but he sighed letting his shoulders slump as he trailed off. He turned to Thomas to see a look of hurt on his face. "He wanted to find your bloody girlfriend too," he muttered hitting his arm, making them both smile briefly at the sudden normality that felt so foreign. He looked over his shoulder at Brenda, who'd been stirring in her sleep, as she sat up. "Speaking of which."

Thomas continued looking at Newt's weary face wondering how he was still going, how he was still somehow acting so strong – he looked defeated and miserable. He'd worn this same face when he'd been forced to leave Eleanor in the Glade, and then it'd melted away when she'd suddenly been at the Griever Hole. He realized then, as he'd realize later, that Newt needed Eleanor to survive – it wasn't just to live, Newt was living without her, he didn't want to. He needed her to want to live, and that thought made Thomas sad. Though he too turned to Brenda and he forced the thought of Eleanor, and whatever WICKED was telling her now, and of Newt's obvious despair, he forced it all out of his mind.

* * *

><p><em>Three and a half weeks later<em>

Thomas didn't know what happened. One minute he was running with Brenda, Minho, and Newt down hallway after hallway away from the guards who were all clumped together bound and gagged; after leaving Teresa - who he didn't think he'd ever trust again - and the other Gladers and Mr. Janson and the guards – who wanted to cut into their brains to remove the chip that let WICKED control them – after fighting their way through the guards that suddenly disappeared, after Newt's sudden burst of hateful anger, after the weapons room. After all of that, all of which should've kept Thomas' mind full to the brink with being occupied, they came to an intersection and they decided; right or left.

"I say right, are we gonna put it up to a vote?" Brenda asked barely masking her sarcasm after they'd refused to question the guards like she'd wanted.

Both Minho and Newt shook their heads leaving the decision to her, though Newt was slower to respond – he seemed to slower in general, in everything but anger. And so they'd turned right.

All except Thomas, who stood where they'd stopped and stared down the left corridor as his mind suddenly found the memory of this place; he'd turned down this way so many times – days, weeks, years. He knew this corridor better than he knew himself. He didn't stop to care whether he lost the others, they'd come back when they noticed he was gone, he didn't stop to question whether this was a trap. In reality he wasn't consciously doing anything, his feet were moving on a path that was ingrained in his mind.  
>It was all on the left. He counted the doors: <em>one, two<em> He opened door three and the pessimist in him, the one that had risen when Teresa had first disappeared and stayed when she'd betrayed him, expected to see an empty room. And he nearly fell to his knees at the sight of Eleanor's brown hair draping off the bed.

…

They'd just rounded the corner when Brenda looked to make sure they were all there, and she stopped short so suddenly Minho crashed into her back.

"The shuck," he said having tried to catch himself only to nearly fall over.

Brenda looked back down the hall they'd just run the length of. "Where the hell's Thomas?" she demanded as though he might just suddenly appear with his stupid face and apologize for falling behind, something she was completely okay with cause it'd mean he was alright. But he didn't.

Both Newt and Minho turned now worried and immediately thinking WICKED had taken him. "You don't think?" Minho asked without finishing that thought as he turned to Newt, who could only shrug honestly not knowing.

"We'll go back, see if he maybe he turned down a different hall," Brenda said, taking more charge than the other two who looked like they might panic – even Minho, who was normally so self-assured.

They'd made it back to the place they'd stopped to decide which way to go when they finally saw him step out of a room. "I'll hit his shuck face," Minho said nearly growling at having worked himself up for nothing; a thought Newt shared.

But Thomas didn't even look toward them, he turned back to the room and said something quietly – and instantly the three held their weapons tighter not knowing what to expect. But it was nothing more than a waif of a girl slowly stepping after him wearing a stark white hospital gown, looking up at the ceiling as though an alarm would blare at her leaving unattended.

"Shuck it," Minho said giving a relieved breathy laugh as he hit Newt's shoulder. "It's Eleanor. Our she-bean's alright."

They all nearly jumped at the sound of a Launcher clanging to the ground, a sound that echoed in the complete silence and caused Thomas and Eleanor to look toward the three standing several feet away.

And suddenly there was no one in the entire world but the two of them; a boy with apology and love on his tongue and a girl staring at him as though the world had finally come together. For the first time in weeks the ache that had been cutting into his soul at last had ceased and it was like he could breathe again. They both stood staring with eyes wide with fear and longing at the other, wanting desperately to go back to the Glade when everything had at least been okay.

Almost timidly Newt stepped forward, not knowing if it'd make her shrink against Thomas when she looked almost nervous, but that small movement was everything and the breath left him when her uncertainty turned to realization – she was his Eleanor again. And he held his arms open as she threw herself against him.


	27. I can't stand this indecision

Thomas moved around the two to stand by Minho and Brenda, hearing Newt saying over and over in a broken whisper that he was sorry. There was something almost sad as they watched Newt sink to the ground still clutching her to his chest, only now his face was buried against her neck and his shoulders were shaking – it was a bitter reunion, brought back together to die.

"This is the girl you told me about," Brenda said softly, not even really needing to say it – it was obvious from the looks of relief on both Thomas and Minho's faces, let alone Newt's reaction. "Is she immune?"

Thomas shook his head not even remembering what all he'd told her about Eleanor. "By now she's further along than he is," he forced himself to say, finding his tongue felt thick as he formed the words. He didn't know what the past five weeks had been like for her, how much stress WICKED had caused her – and it was important that he knew, it was so horribly important and yet it was terrifying. He didn't know how long she had before the Flare had completely taken over and she was as sick and inhuman as the Cranks they'd seen in the Scorch – and he didn't know what they'd do when she started to lose it. What they'd do with Newt.

It's what Brenda was thinking; she didn't know Eleanor, only knew that she was the poor mad girl Thomas sent into the Maze, it wouldn't be difficult leaving her behind. Except from the clear way Newt loved her; as though he'd been dying a little each day without her. God it was beautiful to see them, she couldn't look away.

"We should go," Minho said not knowing how long they had before whatever had tied up the guards found them. It was stupid to be sitting this long.

But both Thomas and Brenda shook their heads. "Give 'em a minute," Brenda said, the more romantic of the two boys. She turned to Minho at his refusal with a raised brow and motioned to where Newt sat clutching her to his chest. "Then you go tell him."

And Minho almost did, he really almost stepped forward and told them to stop wasting time because they still weren't safe yet. But at some point after Newt had fallen to his knees it'd been Eleanor to hold him, to cradle him against her as his warm tears seeped into her shirt and onto her skin. So Minho couldn't do it, he couldn't tell his friend to let go of the girl who was so obviously vital to his wellbeing. Because even then, crying silently against her, all his anger and frustration and hopelessness were slowly dissipating from his tired shoulders.

They let him have a minute to assure himself she was really there with her arms tight around him, let him catch his breath, let him breathe her in as he calmed down. And within two minutes he'd pulled himself together and they both stood, their hands intertwined so tightly their fingers were numb; but they didn't dare let go.

In those short minutes without him saying a word, Eleanor knew something was wrong with both of them. She kept looking at him afraid he would disappear with the blink of an eye, and he clung to her as though he were dying. Newt took the Launcher Thomas extended, the one his hands had let go of at the sheer amazement at seeing her, and pulled her along after him as they quickly ran down hallway after hallway looking for the hangar.

It wasn't until Brenda stopped at a set of double doors, seeing of them slightly ajar, that he realized how vulnerable Eleanor was – she had no means of defending herself be it weapon or the will to actually care. Something was off in the way she was staring at everything around them; staring hard at a spot on the wall as though there were something there, tilting her head as though she'd heard something. She'd always been jacked but this was different, like she was walking through a dream and any second she'd wake up back in that room. He pushed her back to the wall and moved with Minho on either side of the doorway.

Those were the exact thoughts she was thinking as she stood against the wall staring at the back of his head forcing her heart to stop racing at the nearness of him; how many times her dreams had forsaken her, made her think Newt had found her only to wake up cold and alone. After so many long months she'd come to realize that hope was a dangerous thing, because she was often left gasping for air at the emptiness she felt at being alone. Those were the days she woke up wanting to die. She wouldn't survive feeling such agonized desperation again, it'd drown her, and her mind would flee leaving behind nothing but a shell.

But she moved with them, staying close to Newt as they scanned the hangar for anything that moved. There was something so familiar, so real, about the relief in his eyes when Newt had turned to see she was staying with him. But Minho shouted to them before she could think on it.

"Hey over here, someone's on the . . ."

Newt grabbed her hand and pulled her to the large crate Minho stood beside, training his weapon on the person that was struggling to sit up.

Eleanor jumped at the other girl's small cry as she rushed toward the man lying on the ground, pulling him into a relieved hug. She had absolutely no idea what was going on or who these people were, or where any of the others were. There were more questions than answers, and there was something wrong in the silence – she didn't know about the guards, she didn't know they'd been running from something hoping to escape in one of the Bergs. She didn't know any of that, and yet she was the only one who stood in the unbearable silence knowing something was coming.

Newt had stepped out from behind the crate after Thomas and Minho expecting Eleanor to be following, but he turned back to see her standing where they'd stopped now staring at the doors they'd come through as though something was there. He waited tensely knowing not to doubt her again, but after several moments without anything happening he took her hand and led her to the others.

She still didn't know what was going on, if anything _was_ going on; in truth she was waiting for Mr. Janson to wake her and find out everything was a dream. Even then, feeling Newt's warm skin against her own and hearing their voices clearly in her ears, she didn't believe it. She couldn't afford to let herself believe it was real, not when the truth hurt so much; this was all a dream. Newt wasn't really there, Thomas wasn't or Minho or the two strangers – but God it felt like home, she'd been gone for so long and her heart was finally beating again. And that's why it hurt so much when she opened her eyes and found that it was all in her head; she needed him to be okay, and she was so broken without him.

"Well, all of them except you _muchachos._"

Eleanor turned to the man who'd been lying on the ground hearing the striking familiarity in not only his voice but his Spanish words. Her mind was so slow to recall why it was familiar, the Flare so rooted in her brain, that she stood stock still as the others spoke – she completely missed that Teresa took the other Gladers, including the girls, and escaped on a Berg, didn't even hear Minho and the man arguing. She was completely lost in thought as she stared wide eyed at the man – her mind finally sorting through her endless list of memories to find the one that went with his face.

…

_She looked at where her mother lay unmoving on the ground, her head bent at an odd angle as blood began to pool dark and crimson around her head. "Mom?" she asked quietly, afraid she was gonna wake up and scream again. "Mommy?" _

_Warm shaking hands wrapped gently around her shoulders and she was turned away from her mother, from the other woman, both of whom were bleeding and both of whom had been murdered. "Hey niña," he said in a quivering voice as he looked at her wide sad eyes. _

_She stared at the man's suddenly weary face as anguish hung from his shoulders; he normally smiled, sometimes colored with her, most of the time he watched her fascinated as she reconstructed images in her mind on a paper. There was no smile on his face then, nothing but tears running down his cheeks. "They're dead aren't they, Mr. Jorge," she said not knowing if she wanted to cry or not. _

_He shook his head unable to actually say the words, staring at a girl who acted so much older than her seven years. "Come on," he said picking her up, feeling her little arms wrap around his neck as she laid her head on his shoulder. _

_They left her dead mother, left his dead wife. And in the end, he left her too._

…

"Where Brenda goes, I go. And I hate to say it, but heading for the Scorch sounded better than staying here. I looked at it like a vacation. Turned out a little rougher than I-" Jorge broke off at the sight of the girl who stood almost completely obscured by Newt. For a second, a good long second, he thought he was staring at the woman who'd killed his wife. But this girl was a good ten years younger than her mother had been, and then he was left with shock – she wasn't a kid anymore, she was at least Brenda's age. Without a care to the boy who was standing like a shield in front of her, Jorge stepped around him and took her face in his hands. "Diana?"

Her thoughts were moving a mile a second, or at least they were trying to but everything just felt so slow. She was horribly confused, and trying so hard to keep her hope at bay. But Jorge was here, a man she hadn't seen or even thought of in years, the other girl was here – and both of them shouldn't be because why would she dream of them.

The answer was simple, and she had tried so hard to fight it. It wasn't a dream. This was all real. Newt was real, and they'd found her. She was home.

And then an alarm began screaming.

* * *

><p><em>Sorry for how short this was. I have a test today and I needed yesterday to study, so this chapter ended up short and a little hastily written. Thank you all so very much for the reviews, and for reading; and I really hope you enjoy.<em>


	28. married with a lack of vision

Newt barely had time to comprehend that Jorge knew Eleanor by a different name before the alarm rang. He didn't even have time to check to make sure she was alright, knowing her hands were over her ears, before the guards burst through the doors and started shooting.

"I got her muchacho," Jorge told him almost irritably, seeing the boy was made stupid by his care for the girl.

"Who let 'em loose?" Minho yelled.

Newt somehow found he didn't care that Eleanor knelt beside Jorge, he was just glad she wasn't a target for the guards that were still shooting – several arcs of lightening threaded around and over the crate, singeing the air. "Hardly think it bloody matters right now!" Newt shouted back, caught wanting to look at Eleanor to assure himself she was alright but he knew the moment he did a guard would come around the side of the crate and shoot him – that just seemed to be their buggin' luck. And so he settled for knowing she was with Jorge, who seemed to know her.

"They'll flank of any second," Jorge called to the others, "we need to start shooting back!"

Newt felt the same relief as Thomas at hearing Jorge say that. "I guess you're with us, then?" Thomas asked.

Jorge looked at Brenda and shrugged. "If she's helping you, then so am I. And if you haven't noticed – they're trying to kill me too."

Eleanor sat pressed against his side having shaken her head when he'd looked at her before he spoke; it was probably better if they didn't know he knew her. There was a brief moment of reprieve from all the noise, though the guards were now searching for them, and her mind could actually think. It might be easier to explain that Jorge had been mistaken rather than to admit he hadn't been able to take care of her – which had indirectly led to WICKED finding her, just like she'd indirectly been the reason WICKED had found Jorge, an immune, in a city with the infected.  
>If they actually made it out of there of course; it was always a possibility that they'd be found and the others shot with the Launchers, she would be removed from the building entirely, and she'd never see any of them again. That thought made panic swell in her chest: she'd just realized that Newt was actually there, warm and real. She couldn't bear being taken from him again.<p>

The onslaught had paused momentarily; if they were going to gain an advantage, they needed to act quickly. Thomas left the plan to Minho, who gave him a sharp look before nodding curtly. "Okay, I'll fire right, Newt fires left. Thomas and Brenda, you fire over the box. Jorge, you take Eleanor and scout a way for us to get to your shuck Berg. Shoot anything that moves or wears black. Get ready."

Jorge put his mouth by her ear; "Stay still, niña," he told her. He knew from the way she stared at things, as though her mind was seeing other things – he'd seen enough Cranks, her own mother, to recognize that look. She was sane for the moment, but there was no telling how long it would last – for either her or the other boy.

She didn't know what his plan was but she knew well enough to listen; she'd seen the effect of the Launchers – the guards might not kill her, but she'd wish they had the moment those tendrils of lightening engulfed her body. At the sound of Minho's yell and the sudden explosion of the grenades she covered her ears; noise had never hurt her ears so much. It was a sudden foray of ear shattering yells and the pounding explosions, it stabbed violently into her brain.

It's what Jorge had counted on, he'd known her as a child before WICKED had ruined her – she'd never really been normal. Loud noises had always left her huddled on the ground with her hands over her ears, and he knew what was about to happen would leave her immobile in a pain only she felt.

Eleanor sat on her knees just barely rocking back and forth; just that small movement, barely noticeable, was enough to keep her from completely shutting down. Though when the noise lessened she didn't move, she could still feel it vibrating in her ears – other than when the doors moved, and a new Glader was sent up, the Glade had never been so loud. With all of her memories accessible she realized the Glade was her best memory since before she was six.

She barely heard them forming a plan, their voices muffled beneath her palms; she couldn't have a fit now, she didn't know if it'd turn into a Crank moment or she'd just go comatose. All she knew for certain was that Jorge was at her side running his hand in a long smooth motion down her back; his hand was completely flat on her back running from shoulder to waist before he picked his hand up and started at her shoulders again, stroking the muscles beside her spine. How many times he'd seen her mother do this to calm her down; even after ten years he remembered this girl.

Newt glanced at her in that brief moment of reprieve, where Minho and Thomas and Jorge were talking about the Berg – what Newt himself should be concerned about – he sat worried about Eleanor because he knew how fragile her mind was, and he knew how fragile _he_ was without her.

"Okay. First everyone reload. Then Newt and I'll cover while Thomas, Jorge, Brenda and Eleanor run to the Berg. Jorge keep Eleanor with you and get her fired up while Thomas and Brenda cover for us from behind that hatch door. Sound like a plan?"

Newt listened just long enough to hear what he was supposed to do before looking back to Jorge to see him nod, his eyes trained on Minho, and his hand still running down her back. She hated being touched when she was like this, she always recoiled and sometimes whimpered – though they'd always touched her shoulder. Whatever Jorge was doing it was working, she slowly unwound herself and sat up lowering her hands from her ears. And yet Jorge didn't even notice, he didn't seem to care that no one else had ever calmed her down after her fit started.

"Those beasts are tougher than a Scorch camel," Jorge said answering Thomas' question of whether a Launcher would hurt the Berg. "If they miss us and hit my ship, all the better. Let's do this, muchachos!"

Before Newt could even wonder how Jorge knew her or what name he'd called her, Minho yelled without giving any warning: "Then go go go!"

Jorge wrapped an arm around Eleanor's waist. "Come on niña," he said turning to Brenda and giving her short nod before he picked up Eleanor and started running, hearing the eruption of weapons firing at the clear targets they'd just made.

* * *

><p><em>It's probably obvious by now that the chapters are going to be shorter, and it's for two reasons; one, it's easier for me with work and school, and two I'm sad to say that the story is almost over. In less than ten chapters, even. So, I'm sorry that the chapters will be short which then means not as much will happen in them - but I hope you guys will still bear with me. <em>

_Also, I have a little trivia question for you guys. I've never said this in the story, but I've left several hints in previous chapters - and huge hints in this one - about what mental disorder Eleanor has. I'm hoping it's a known fact that she was never a normal kid, even before WICKED got their hands on her and made her crazy. [I started the story with the idea to make it a known fact she had this disorder, but then decided against it; but I still kept the symptoms for it] _And so I'm curious, has anyone has caught on?  
>So i<em>n tomorrow's chapter I will give the answer, and I'll say who was right. _


	29. say that you'll never need it

_I would first like to thank everyone who left a review saying what they thought was the mental disorder I had in mind for Eleanor. It was a difficult question because her disorder is kind of buried under crazy. I'll explain why she isn't schizophrenic first because it's simpler; her not knowing what's real and her paranoia, both symptoms of schizophrenia, are the direct result of what WICKED did to her - so that's not a mental disorder, she's insane (a state of mind that prevents normal perception, behavior, or social interaction; seriously mentally ill). _

_As to her mental disorder: for the reviewers I could respond to I left two hints:1. the things she's done since she was a child - noises being overwhelming, she never played like a normal child, and when she's 'upset' she doesn't really like being touched (except in the way Jorge had been soothing her) 2. her social interactions - she doesn't catch subtext, doesn't understand sarcasm, and often doesn't know how to say the things in her head.  
>It was a guest reviewer who got it: Eleanor has Asperger's. She misses subtext in conversations, she often doesn't know how to communicate what she wants to say, and sometimes she just doesn't participate in the conversation. She fixates, a lot; she has a one track mind. Doesn't like change, sensitive to noise. What makes it Asperger's and not simply autism is her wanting to make friends; she knows what she's supposed to do, and she tries very hard to do it, she just doesn't fully understand how. Except for the people who are closest to her (mainly Newt), she learns their ways of communicating and tries to adapt to it; and Newt also makes more of an effort to understand her.<em>

_Anyways, I could talk about Eleanor all day. But I guess I'll stop and let you read the chapter. Thank you, again, to everyone and I hope you enjoy._

* * *

><p>Eleanor's thin arms wrapped around Jorge's neck as she held him, shrinking into herself at the flurry of firing weapons – one distinct clap of thunder ringing the loudest in her ear that triggered the memory of her mother's head snapping back before her body hit the ground. If she wasn't holding onto him as tightly as she was, she would've fallen when he turned at the sound of Brenda's scream to see tendrils of electricity snaking over her body.<p>

Jorge had continued running and nearly threw Eleanor up the hatch before climbing in behind her, tossing aside his weapon and grabbing a different kind of Launcher, one she'd never seen; and somehow Eleanor knew it was worse. He knelt quickly in front of her, obviously wanting to help Brenda, and he grabbed her shoulders – he could've folded her in half from how tightly he squeezed her, knowing pressure helped ground her. "Listen niña," he told her quickly, knowing he had little time to waste.

She stared at his worried, panicked face, and told him softly okay. The fight was muffled in the Berg, it echoed dimly. She wasn't panicked, not even with what was going on outside, she was almost comfortable – the air was warm, his hands were comforting, the sound reverberating in the Berg reminded her of something she'd once heard her mother say: _Sometimes she gets a little overwhelmed, especially with noise. If you wrap your arms around her shoulders and squeeze her against your chest she'll calm right down. The pressure and the warmth of your body help too._ Her mother had told that to Jorge's wife, before asking again if she was sure she was comfortable watching her – her mother worked, so did Jorge, and his wife watched Diana; she'd smiled kindly before patting Diana's head, who barely even noticed as she continued coloring, before saying it was okay.

That's what Eleanor was thinking about as she listened to Jorge's hasty instructions, which were to listen to what he told her and do_ exactly_ what he said in the _exact _way he said it. And then he ran back out and fired at the guards.

Thomas watched the grenades of Jorge's new weapons exploded into spouts of raging fire, engulfing the guards they hit in flames. "What?" he called seeing Jorge yelling something. It wasn't until he heard a soft whirring that he realized Jorge was yelling to Eleanor how to start the Berg so they could actually escape.

Eleanor flipped the switches she'd been instructed and then waited for the others to get in, hearing the fighting coming closer. At the sudden sound of feet on metal she turned to see Jorge and Minho dragging Brenda up the ramp.

"Sounds real good, Diana," Jorge yelled to her, assuring her she'd done what she was supposed to.

Minho looked at Jorge confused. "Her name's Eleanor."

"You can bloody talk about it later, Tommy's hit," Newt yelled, causing both Minho and Jorge to run back out.

Eleanor stood from the pilot's seat and hesitantly stepped toward where they'd dropped Brenda, seeing her completely pale skin and the blood that pooled out of her nose streaking across her cheek. Eleanor knelt down and began wiping her face, using the hem of the white gown to gently blot at the blood. Jorge ran past her, barely stopping to notice either girls as he made for the Berg's controls to raise the ramp.

"Shuck, she-bean, you could've dragged her to a bed," Minho said after him and Newt threw Thomas up the ramp.

"Slim it Minho," Newt told him looking from where Thomas now lay unconscious. "You now she's not strong enough."

Eleanor stepped back as Minho and Newt grabbed Brenda and carried her to a cot, and then watched as they did the same to Thomas – who was just as pale and unconscious as Brenda.

"Hey," Newt said when he saw her standing unhappily against the side of the Berg. It was almost like they were back in the Glade when she'd first gotten there, her body nearly vibrating with how uncomfortable she was – as though at any given moment she might turn and run away. She looked like she wanted to, to run and never stop. "Why don't you pick a couch," he said reaching a hand to touch her face. It physically hurt him to see her flinch at his touch, even though she quickly calmed and leaned into his hand, that first moment where she hadn't recognized him – he felt it like she'd shot him with a Launcher.

Minho stood back watching them, seeing the pain on Newt's face as she walked away. He'd never had much patience for her, not when she was like this – Newt had always been the only one she responded to, he'd made her his responsibility and fell in love with her in the process. Minho couldn't remember ever loving anyone, but he knew he never wanted to love someone like Newt did Eleanor; to love so much it hurt, to not be able to live without someone else. And he rather suddenly found himself angry at Eleanor for not realizing what she was doing to Newt, and he was angry at Newt for being such a stupid slinthead when it came to her. "Why'd you call her Diana?" Minho asked Jorge, his tone harsh and demanding.

Jorge barely glanced over his shoulder as he piloted the Berg out of the hangar. "I'm busy, hermano. Why don't you ask her?"

Minho had never liked Jorge, just like Jorge had never liked him; and he didn't like him all the more at the sound of his sharp voice. He turned to see Newt doing his best to bandage Thomas' leg where a bullet had grazed him, and then he looked for Eleanor. She sat with her knees pressed tight against her chest staring unhappily at the ground. "How do you know Jorge?" he asked her. His voice was harsher than it should've been, especially since she didn't respond well to it. If she responded to it all, like she did then – or rather like she _didn't _then. She just sat there staring ahead of her, as blank as she always was – and that just infuriated him more.

Except she wasn't sitting blank, she knew exactly what he asked and that he was looking for an answer; the problem was she didn't know if it would do more harm telling him how she knew Jorge. She didn't know what to say, so she said nothing.

"Eleanor," Minho said crouching down so he was in her face. "I need you to be normal right now, okay," he told her. He needed her like she was in the Glade – yeah she'd been weird and didn't always make sense, but she at least would respond. "You know Jorge, he called you Diana – that's your real name isn't it? Did WICKED remove your Swipe?" He sat waiting for an answer, brushing aside Newt's concern. He wasn't trying to upset her or to even be mean to her, in all truth he liked the she-bean as jacked as she was, but he just wanted an answer and she had one. All his frustrations were now aimed at her, as unfair as it was. "Eleanor, could you at least look at m-"

Her palm cracked loudly against his cheek and he staggered back in complete shock unable to believe she'd just hit him. Newt grabbed his arm and dragged him away from her, not liking the way she stared at her hand as though it was unfamiliar to her. "Just bloody stay away from her, would ya. We have no buggin' idea what WICKED told her. Let her calm down you bloody klunk-head."

He quickly limped to where she sat on the couch and sat beside her, folding the hand that slapped Minho's cheek in his own. "It's alright," he told her knowing exactly how she was feeling – it was like something had just snapped in her mind and she hadn't been herself, and now she was left scared because she hadn't meant to do it – he'd felt it less than an hour before when he'd punched Minho in his shuck face. "He didn't mean it, he knows you didn't mean it. We'll get some sleep and calm down." It was a good a plan as any, they were exhausted and wired up all at the same time – they just needed to rest.

"I'll talk to Jorge, see where we're going," Minho said wanting to at least know that before he laid down.

Newt barely even looked his way as Eleanor laid on her side leaving him just enough room to lay beside her. He didn't know if he'd ever wanted to know what was going on in her mind as much as he did then; to know what damage WICKED had done so he'd know what to do to make it better. Normally lying beside her made him forget any trouble he had, even if she was the problem; he normally found so much comfort in her small body, that feeling her breaths helped even his own breathing. He hadn't realized it before but he only felt that because she offered it; she wasn't offering him any comfort in that moment. He laid down beside her and was met with so much guilt and utter sadness in her eyes.

"They told me you weren't real."

His heart had never been so broken as he realized she'd believed them; that's why her eyes had been so distant, that's why she still wasn't fully there. She'd given up on him, and now she lay with less than an inch between him with tears in her eyes still scared she was gonna wake up. "Hey," he said cupping her face, feeling that familiar need to make the world okay for her. "I love you." He had to say it, after almost leaving her in the Glade and then having her taken, who knew what would happen next to keep him from saying it – but there it was, those three words out in the open. And he felt like he'd just given her his heart and was now waiting to see if she'd accept it.

That hadn't been what she was expecting; she thought he'd be mad or upset that she'd believed Mr. Janson. But he sat there with an uncertain smile twitching on his mouth. So she said the first thing that came to mind. "I know."

His brows furrowed at her answer, which was nothing more than a simple agreement – as though he'd told her the weather. "You're supposed to say I love you too," he told her with a grin, seeing her blinking away whatever thoughts had been behind her eyes. She was making that face she made right before her mouth formed a smile so beautiful it took his breath away. He knew she was coming back.

"But I said it first," she informed him, watching his brow crease further in confusion. "I love my love with an H."

And there was that smile, it was only half as bright as it'd been in the Glade but it still knocked the breath out of him. "The whole bloody time," he said quietly as he realized she'd been telling him he was the most important person in the world to her for months. He might've kissed her, should have kissed her in such a gentle moment, but he saw her notice the way his own smile fell – saw the questions in her mind. She knew how to read faces, she didn't always understand a look or the way someone said something, but she knew him. So he told her, and this time it was her heart that broke. "I'm a bloody Crank too." He watched the shock settle on her lovely, if not bedraggled, face.

"But you can't die," she whispered. She was faced with the same thoughts as when they'd been fighting the Grievers; she couldn't imagine the world without him.

He shrugged not wanting to think about it; he just wanted to hold her, push all this pain away for just a moment before he crushed under the weight of it. "It's not like life was ever anything without you." Before she could say anything, if she even had anything to say, he pulled her to his chest and tucked her head under his chin; breathing in the smell of her. She smelled like soap. He couldn't even hold onto to that thought, that she smelled clean, that she was warm and there and pressed against him as he'd only been able to dream about. Thoughts of the Cranks he'd seen in the Scorch kept flashing in his head; that's what was happening to him, what was happening to her. Life had never been more unfair than it was then.

And somehow, drowning in his morose thoughts of death with only the feel of her against him to keep him afloat, he found rest.


	30. one headline why believe it

Eleanor woke to a finger jabbing at her shoulder, and she blinked the sleep out of her eyes to see Thomas standing over her. He would've woken Newt first but he thought with the way Newt was behaving it'd be better if she did – considering Newt was laying across her chest as though he'd been seeking comfort.

She felt strange as sleep seeped away with any peace they'd once had. She felt like a balloon floating away, and it was only a matter of time until the small pieces of her fell back to the earth.

"We're gonna talk about going into a city to get the chip WICKED put in our heads taken out," Thomas told her, finding he still felt like he was intruding on them. Her hand was around the back of Newt's neck and his cheek warmed the place between her breasts. It was so quiet beside them, so calm and peaceful and warm; he almost regretted the need to wake them. After so many weeks of Newt worrying about her constantly, of blaming himself for WICKED taking her, of almost literally dying without her; they were finally together and breathing. It just didn't seem fair to make them move.  
>Thomas felt an inexplicable surge of jealousy toward them. He didn't want to love Eleanor, he didn't have Newt's patience or grace in dealing with her, and he honestly didn't want to love anyone as much Newt loved her – there was too much desperation, he couldn't imagine needing someone to make life worth living. Their love wasn't what made him jealous, what made him covet them – it was the complete trust and faith they had in each other. They had certainty. And shuck if he hadn't spent a part of every day questioning everything Teresa did. "You wake him, I'll wake Minho," he said as though it were a compromise, rather than her doing what he didn't want to.<p>

But it might've been better if Thomas had woken Newt – whatever kindness and grace she'd once had was gone in that moment – she shoved Newt into a sitting position startling him from his dark dreams. "Thomas wants you for a Gathering," she said simply as she threw the blanket carelessly to the floor.

Thomas looked at her not just from her almost rude tone, but her words. "I don't really think it'd be a Gathering."

"Why not?" a groggy Minho asked as he sat up, a tired smile on his face, "For old time's sake."

Thomas nodded feeling like the Glade had been years ago. "And I want you there too, Eleanor," he told her, not liking the look on her face – it was uncommon to see anything resembling rage on her face, but she looked like she wanted to slam someone's head into a wall.

She shrugged. "Why?" she demanded. "It's not like anyone listened to me about leaving the Glade. And look where that got me, you practically gave me back to WICKED. So no," she said holding her hands in mock surrender, "I don't need to go to the Gathering, I'll be doing what you want no matter what I say."

Minho and Thomas watched her irritably leave the cargo hold, and then as Newt quietly followed after not even looking like he was concerned. "Who pissed in her coffee?" Minho asked feeling the same shock he'd felt last night when she hit him.

Thomas shook his head not liking this one bit; he knew exactly what was going on. "She told us what she was thinking," Thomas answered. He didn't have to say it, they were both thinking it – the Flare was doing something to her brain, making it easier for her to speak the words in her mind. But it was also making her mean, like it made Newt wanna yell.

When the two made it to the common area they saw both Brenda and Newt staring over Eleanor's shoulder as she sat at a table with a piece of paper and a pen, and Jorge stood on the other side with a crooked smile on his face.

"If I ask how you know her, you gonna tell me?" Minho asked Jorge, starting the 'Gathering.'

Jorge turned to him wryly and shook his head. "Did you ask her, hermano?" He wouldn't offer the information if not even she wanted to; there was no fondness in that memory for either of them.

"How do you know her?" Brenda asked, not knowing whether to think of the strange girl as Eleanor or Diana. All she knew was that Jorge had a special gentleness saved for her, knowing exactly how to calm her.

Even Thomas wanted to know; it was almost a surprise to realize she had a life before him – that he didn't know something about her. It's what everyone wanted to know, and it settled in the air like a tangible being.

"My mother killed his wife."

They were all startled by the sound of her sweet voice curling around such awful words in such a matter of fact way, and they turned to her surprised.

"Then he killed my mother."

That was all she said before she went back to drawing on the paper Jorge had given her, starting a small pattern in the center like he'd told her to do. They turned to Jorge and waited for him to give some answer for what she'd just said, and he sighed before giving in. "Her mother was a Crank," he finally answered.

"But you're immune," Brenda said knowing Eleanor had been found in a Crank city, she'd looked at the girl's file while Thomas had been kept in solitary for three weeks. So it didn't make sense, Jorge shouldn't know her.

He nodded wishing the girl had just answered Minho when he'd asked, saved him the trouble of having to explain. "My wife wasn't," he told Brenda, caring for her enough to actually answer honestly. "We shared a home with them for a year before her mother was past the Gone. I visited her at an orphanage til WICKED got her, then they made me a pilot." His words were heavy with years old pain still raw and bleeding, he didn't like the way it weighed on him. "Keep drawing niña," he said resting his hand on the top of her head for a moment – remembering the days he'd come home from work and see her sitting at the table drawing big circular patterns that looked like wheels of a clock. "Patterns are easy on her mind, they always calm her down," he told the others. "We ready to start this meeting?"

They nodded quickly, hearing the irritation in the tone of his voice – though it was only there to hide his sudden melancholy. He subtly beckoned Thomas to him, stepping away from the girl so she wouldn't overhear – there would be no calm if she did, she knew what was coming just as much as he did.

"You saw the look in her eye?" Jorge asked Thomas, who nodded because he'd seen the gleam in her now dull brown that somehow also looked glazed – she looked crazy and wired and drugged all at the same time. "It was the same look her mother had days before she was Gone," Jorge said ominously. "She doesn't have much longer, and Newt'll be right behind her."


	31. everybody

Eleanor sat at the table lost in the lines she was carving, serrating the edges of the wheels – her father had fixed their old clock once, and when he'd opened it up he showed her the intricate wheels inside and how they all fit together. And then he sat patiently as she memorized the almost beautiful way they sat on top of each other, at the way it was all connected.

She needed that; connection. It was like her tangled mind had unraveled and she was now forced to realized that the only thing that had been keeping her together was the very disease that was destroying her.

But she still heard every word they said. She could be locked far away in her mind and yet somehow she'd still hear everything. She hated it, she didn't want to hear this plan – Jorge, Brenda, Thomas and Minho would go into Denver and leave Newt and Eleanor there. And the worst part was that no one would say it, no one would admit that it didn't matter if Newt's chip was removed because each hour brought him that much closer to the Gone; and Eleanor wasn't even a part of the conversation, Jorge had shaken his head before Thomas could do anything more than look at where she sat.

"If she remembers me then WICKED removed her chip. It'd be safer for everyone, especially her, if she stayed here." That's what Jorge had decided to say, and his words had been so carefully chosen it appeased Newt and didn't bother Eleanor anymore than she was already.

She wasn't okay, she wasn't even close. The others sat with her and shared a quick meal but she didn't even look up when Newt offered her something to eat – she just continued drawing. Newt tried to press her to eat again not knowing when last she'd had food, she was thinner than he remembered – the last time she'd had solid food was two days before they left the Glade, WICKED had been forced to give her IV drips since she refused anything they offered – but Jorge stopped him.

"Let her finish, hermano, ask her again when she's done."

That's what Newt was afraid of, what would happen when she finished; if Jorge was right then she should be calm by now. But he could see in the almost violent way she carved the lines in the paper that she was anything but calm, she looked furious with her lovely mouth held in a frown and her eyes blazing – shuck it if she'd ever been more beautiful.

…

Everyone except Jorge, who flew them closer to Denver, left the common area to nap as their pilot suggested since they still had a few hours to go. But Newt sat back in a chair next to her and played with the ends of her hair; wrapping strands around his finger and tugging gently on them. What he found that he really wanted was to grab a fistful of her hair and force her head back until she looked at him. He wanted to see her dark eyes alight with the disease that infected both their brains; there was something almost intimate in the thought of sharing death.

As though she knew what he was thinking she turned to see a crooked grin on his face as he pulled her hair; it wasn't half as enticing as the smirk she'd seen on an almost daily basis in the Glade, neither of them could muster the brief happiness they'd once felt, but it was enough to make the corners of her mouth curl. "Is this flirting?" she asked with a small smile.

His grin grew at the sight of that look on her face, reaching his hand to touch her warm cheek. "Maybe," he said softly. There was a moment, a brief fleeting moment, when her eyes cleared and the sweet look on her lovely face was the one he'd fallen in love with. He took a breath as he stared at her, his thumb running along her cheek, feeling the warmth of her spread through his chest. "I love you," he told her, feeling those words drip from his mouth like honey. He could say nothing but those three words for the rest of his short life and he'd be happy when he died.

Her smile brightened as she held the hand he'd raised to touch her face. "I know."

…

Hours, days, weeks later they didn't know. Time was nothing to them as they sat in warm solitude, their hearts settling into a rhythm, their infected brains adopting a similar pattern, their bodies pressed together as their eyes stared at a place of light where dust floated in the air.

That was the sight Thomas came upon when he'd woken from his nap with his dream still vivid in his mind. Newt sat in a chair with his feet held up in another, and Eleanor lay with her back against his chest. Thomas didn't feel like he was intruding upon a private moment, what he felt was unsettling. It was so quiet, so still; normally he could almost feel them breathing and the relief they felt at being together. All he felt then was still; if the two of them were dead he didn't think that room could feel more empty.

"Hey," Minho said when he stopped beside Thomas, oblivious to the strangeness of the way Newt and Eleanor sat staring at nothing barely breathing. But Minho did see the moment their dull haze was broken; and the sight of Newt and Eleanor's faces when they turned to the two boys showed almost exactly what the Flare was doing to them – Newt's face fell into a depressed anger, and Eleanor's eyes ignited in a dull brown fury.

She moved from Newt's lap and returned to her drawing, whatever peace her mind had now gone. That's where she stayed while the others took chairs to the cockpit where Jorge was still flying the Berg. It wasn't a long conversation, and it was dramatically cut short by Newt, who knew his lack of importance in the matter since he could feel himself slipping further – and to think he'd been so calm and warm with Eleanor only minutes before. He'd said his piece and stalked his way back to Eleanor and threw himself into a chair; he wanted to yell, hit something, he hated everything.

It wasn't until he looked at Eleanor, saw her knitted brows as she unhappily tore into the paper with the pen, that he realized how true his words had been – _Not much to live for on this piece-of-klunk planet._ He'd started feeling that in the Scorch, he'd felt something so wrong in his head and he wondered if that's what Eleanor had been feeling those last two days in the Glade; that's when she first started showing signs she had the Flare. He knew she was gonna die, she'd said it blatantly, and through the Scorch a part of him had thought dying with her wouldn't be so bad. And now he'd gotten his bloody wish.

…

It wasn't long before Jorge landed the Berg and made his way to the common area, seeing the four them sitting at the table staring quietly at the drawing Eleanor was finishing. Her lines were impeccable, it couldn't look more accurate if they were actually staring into a clock – and then, when she'd finished it, she looked at the drawing she'd created and took a breath before violently slashing it with the pen tearing the paper in half.

"Why don't I see if there's not anything for her to wear," Jorge said wrapping a hand around her arm; he didn't force her up, he didn't pull her after him, but he gave her no choice but to stand on her feet and follow. He led her out of the area the others were in and turned to her, seeing a look in her eye that was so familiar. "I am so sorry, Diana," he told her. She'd been a wonderful child, always sweet and kind; she was quiet, and unusually focused, but she'd been a good kid.

"I want to rip Minho's face off every time I hear his voice," she said as Jorge helped her into a pair of pants. "I want to stick my fingers in his skin and just tear it off." She raised her arms above her head as he pulled the gown off and waited as he maneuvered a plain blue shirt over her head. "I shouldn't want that. I shouldn't want to hurt him."

He stared at her pale face seeing she knew what was happening and that it terrified her. With a hand on her face he nodded before grabbing a bag and stuffing whatever was closest into it; what was inside wasn't important, but what would hide in it was.

She waited as he put more shirts and pants in the bag not knowing what he was doing. At least until he looked up and pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants.

"I could only spare one for you, niña," he told her seriously. "Even if I could've given a bullet for that boy of yours I don't think he'd do it. You tell him, he'll talk you out of it. I know," he said interrupting her before she could speak, seeing the refusal shining in her eyes, "I know you love him, I know you don't wanna leave him on his own. You don't have to do it if you wanna stay with him. But niña, you're worse than him; you got maybe a couple more days before you're Gone. And I know," he paused finding himself suddenly sad as he stared at her big eyes, looking at her and seeing the little girl she'd once been staring up at him asking if her mother was dead. "I know that you know." He showed her how to take the safety off before he put the gun inside a shirt and closed the bag. He had several ideas of what she'd do before they came back to the Berg – but all of them ended in finding that boy cradling her body. She'd go back and forth over whether to kill herself, to leave Newt alone versus making him be the one who'd have to kill her; she'd go back and forth through clarity and insanity.

There'd be one last moment when her mind was free before she was past the Gone, and in that moment she'd do it. That was the moment she'd turn to Newt and say she loved him and apologize for everything, she'd hold him and soak him in. And then she'd kill herself.


	32. wants to rule

Eleanor stalked back and forth on the Berg as Newt watched their friends leave, the sound of her shoes thumping angrily on the metal floor her only means of a goodbye as the hatch closed. And when Newt turned to her with a crestfallen expression void of any of the bravado he'd shown moments before they left, she slapped him hard across the face.

He stared at her utterly shocked, his flushed cheek stinging. "The bloody shuck was that?" he demanded, feeling anger boiling in his stomach.

There was nothing in that moment that even resembled the girl Newt had fallen in love; this was a jaded, bitter, woman who only wore Eleanor's face – and she watched almost delighted as she saw the sick gleam flare in his eyes, watched as he became someone who didn't resemble Newt. "You're pathetic," she spit venomously.

His grin was a cruel slash on his darkened face. "And you're a needy bitch. You were nothing before I found you."

She laughed almost sadistically as she shook her head. "You don't even wanna live without me," she said taunting him.

He took the bait and shoved her against the wall, smiling at the sound of her elbows and her head clanging against the metal. "No," he growled pressing himself against her, "I don't bloody wanna live without you."

Those words sent a rush of heat surging through her bloodstream turning her normally stunted thoughts into those of an animal. Her hands wrapped around either side of his head and she pulled him to her, hungrily moving her mouth over his as her fingers wound viciously in his hair, making him grunt as she pulled at the roots. His hands were wrapped so tightly around her slender arms he could've broken them in half, and his nails anchored his grip as they bit into her skin.

All sanity, all humanity, was completely lost.

…

Somehow time was nothing to them, a minute could stretch out into eternity and they laid in comfortable peace, but there were other minutes they could feel deep in their bones and it made them want to scream. So they screamed together; tearing at each other's hair, clawing at each other's skin, their hips moving together. And then they'd face the wreckage of their mania and they'd cling to each other shaking in fear.

"What does it feel like for you?" she asked, her soft voice barely breaking through the weight of the stillness.

Newt shrugged, feeling his arm brush against hers from how close they lay. "It's like an itch in my head making everything," he though of a word to describe it, "crooked." He stared at the grey of the ceiling for several moments, feeling a twitch in his hands as though he wanted to grab her and pull at her skin. "What about you?" he asked wanting that feeling to go away, he never wanted to hurt her. But turning to see her face he saw the bruise around her neck from his hand, saw the scratches on her arm, felt his own wounds throbbing from where she'd hurt him; but it hadn't really hurt when they'd done it, it had almost felt good.

"I think I can feel it eating my brain," she said looking at him with her large doe eyes, making the need to shelter her swell in him – but even that was different, he didn't just want to hold her, he wanted to fold her inside of him so their bones would mix. "It's like when you sleep on your arm, that feeling,"

"Tingling," Newt said giving her the word she was looking for.

She nodded. "Yeah, I can feel that in my head and it makes me just… I wanna tear myself apart."

He felt her roll her body toward him, felt her legs move from where they were tangled with his, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder as she laid her head on his chest. They lay quietly as they breathed the warm air wrapped around each other, scared of what was happening to them. As the hours past and they drifted in and out of sleep their moments of clarity grew fewer and fewer, until eventually Newt began to tear apart the Berg – throwing and punching and ripping everything he could apart. Sometimes he'd yell, an inhuman sound that rubbed his throat raw.

Eleanor though, she laid softly on the ground – one arm held out that she cushioned her head with, and the other hand curled beneath her chin. She was caught between catatonic and insane fury as she imagined Mr. Janson in the Berg as she slammed his head over and over on the floor until his skull cracked; she went mad ricocheting in between the two.  
>And then there was a moment, a very brief moment, where she craned her neck to look at the bag Jorge had given her, and she thought of killing herself. It was the obvious thing to do, she wouldn't get better. She couldn't turn into the monster her mother had been, to hurt Newt the way her mother had hurt Jorge's wife. The thought of wanting his flesh between her teeth, and she had thought of it, was unbearable.<br>But then she would imagine Newt cradling her body as he cried, knowing he'd find a way to blame himself – knowing she'd have left him completely on his own. They were both barreling toward the Gone, but they were at least tethering each other together; they were holding the good moments as long as they could. She couldn't possibly leave him, not when he'd always been there for her.

…

The more hours past the more the madness in her mind grew. One second she would nearly cry at the hopelessness of everything – at having found him and knowing joy only to die – and then in the next she'd lay burning in hatred for WICKED and Mr. Janson and even Thomas for ever helping them. She had so much anger from the ten years she'd spent unable to actually speak, and she drowned in it.

Newt would move her when he wanted, to climb on top of her, to hold her, to make her hold him – he'd undressed her and put her back in the hospital gown, after he'd taken advantage of her naked body. And she let him. She barely moved, barely breathed, and half the time Newt barely noticed.

It would've surprised them, shocked them at seeing how far from sanity they'd fallen, to know it hadn't even been a full twenty-four hours since their friends left. But for the first time in hours Eleanor moved at the sound of the hatch opening, at the unfamiliar noises these people made – their voices were hushed, relying more on their hands, their movements were swift and quiet. And Newt barely had time to plant himself in front of her before guards of some kind were standing in front of them with weapons raised.

There wasn't much talking, talking wasn't needed. The guards, from the Red Shirt, could tell just from the look of the two kids that they were both infected – at the wreckage they'd caused in the room they were in, in the disarray of their bodies. And from the little talking that was done, though Eleanor said nothing, they realized the person they were looking for wasn't there.

It was barely a thought to her, it was more her subconscious knowing what her choice would be in the end; but as Newt left a note for their friends saying they were being taking to live with the other Cranks, Eleanor grabbed the bag with the gun in it and slung it on her back. She was almost numb to it all; not caring for the hands that pushed her forward – no matter how Newt tried to keep her fully against him – giving no resistance when they were taken off the Berg and led to another ship, smaller than the massive WICKED aircraft.

She knew the place they were being taken to, she'd lived in one for a year – the broken down almost destroyed homes, the feeling of a decayed city that held nothing but despair; it was devoid of hope, of joy, of the will to live. At the sight of the large wooden walls she felt all hope begin to drain out of her, remembering vividly – as she always remembered – the way her mother held her hand and kept her daughter as close as she could without gluing her to her chest, the fear Eleanor had felt in her mother's hand, the way her mother had tried to muffled her sobs that night when they'd tried to sleep amidst the sudden yelling and screaming; and even then the Crank Palace she'd once lived in had been so much better than this one. The guards from the Red Shirt left them with the guards of the Crank Palace, and the two Gladers were led deeper in the desolate city.

Newt pulled her closer each time someone looked at them, noticing the way their eyes gleamed at the sight of her – she was so small, so sweet and docile in appearance; they wanted to devour her in every way possible. He didn't care for talking, he stared around almost widely as the guards gave them a 'tour'; which was simply pointing in a general direction and saying names that were lost on the two kids. When the guards left them Newt pulled Eleanor deeper into the compound, hoping for some quiet place they could sit together.

There wasn't one of course. A fight would break out here, a scream would sound suddenly there, some people stood alone crying, others huddled together proving in the way they related to each other they were insane. He didn't want her near any of them, didn't want anyone else's hands touching her or even their eyes looking at her; if he'd dared he would've bared his teeth and threatened them all – but he knew picking a fight would probably end in him dead and who knew what would happen to Eleanor.

He finally reached a large building the guards had called the bowling alley, that had some semblance of quiet within it's doorless structure. He maneuvered her around the people napping in sleeping bags, glancing suspiciously at the people crowded around the fires that were burning where bowling pins had once been set up. The Cranks congregated mostly in the center lanes and so Newt led Eleanor to the far left where the least amount of people were. Though they were forced to sit at the farthest corner near a man who sat tending to the fire at the end of the lane.

The man smiled half crazed at the sight of them. "You in the habit of sharing, friend?" he asked looking from Newt to Eleanor.

Newt didn't know what to say when anything could set this man off – and he was bigger than Newt, it'd be easy for Newt to find himself hurt; all he could think to do was wrap his arm tighter around her thin shoulders, feeling then just how small she was.

"I'll hold your hand in that fire if you touch me," Eleanor said in her sweet breathy voice, though her eyes were blazing dark pools that were daring to be tested – and in that moment in time Newt honestly believed she was capable of her threat.

The man seemed to agree, or either wasn't serious, and he only shook his head before standing. "This is your fire, keep it going."

Newt watched him go still holding her tight against him. He wanted to regret letting them being taken here so easily, but those guards had been right in Newt and Eleanor being a danger to their friends – looking at the Cranks here, seeing some that were like them and only had moments of insanity, and seeing the ones even closer to the Gone, Newt couldn't find anything in him that disagreed with the necessity of their being taken from their friends. The thought of hurting Thomas or Minho, or even Jorge or Brenda – and he had hurt Minho, and he'd wanted to punch him again. "How are you?" he asked her, hoping she had some sort of an answer so he could decide how he felt; or at least pick one of the feelings that was raging in him.

But she shrugged before turning into him, pressing her face into the warmth of his neck. "I'm glad you're here," she said feeling his small brief smile against her forehead.

If Newt had been in the right mind he would've caught the sadness in her voice, he would've looked down at her and seen the look in her eye and known something was wrong – he may have seen the desperation in her despaired thoughts and asked what was going on in her head. And because she loved him she would have told him, admitted that she felt so empty and lost – not in those words because she'd never really understood the things she felt, but he'd know where her thoughts had gone. He would've told her he loved her and that she couldn't leave him, that he needed her.

If he'd been in the right mind he would've been able to stop her. Instead of being thrown awake the next morning by a deafening crack of thunder in his ear and finding her lying dead beside him.

* * *

><p><em>So next chapter will be the last, and then the story's done. I would just like to thank all of you for reading (I mean I'll say it next chapter too) but I really am so thankful to all of you - and I'm incredibly grateful for those of you who review, and those of you who have reviewed almost every chapter; I don't think I have the words to express how much it means to me. You have all made this story such a joy to write, even if the end is heartbreakingly bitter. So thank, thank you thank you thank you!<em>

_However, I will not be updating tomorrow. Unfortunately I will be too busy and I really wanna invest my time in the emotions of next chapter (cause it's really only two scenes, but they're very emotional). So look for the last chapter on Thursday, cause that's when I'll be posting it. _


	33. the world

She's dead.

That was all Newt could think as he sat staring at the fire. Her face was all he could see every time he closed his eyes; and not how beautiful she was or how warm her smile had made him. All he could see was her pale skin and the dark blood that spilled from her head; all he could see was her dead. And he could still hear her soft whisper of apology, saying over and over how sorry she was – she'd spoken to him right before she did it, kissed him gently. He'd thought it was a dream. But the sound of a gunshot had startled him awake and he turned to where she'd been lying beside him to see the right side of her hea-

"Newt."

He turned at the sound of his name to see two guards standing in the bowling alley, obviously there for him. Which could only mean one thing; Thomas and Minho had come back for him. Something sick twisted in his gut at the thought of Thomas – she'd waited so patiently, so severely, for him to come. He'd known for four years before he finally decided to help her, four bloody years – Newt could've had her longer, if Thomas had sent her earlier, he could've had more time. But of course Thomas had waited four years, the whole bloody Maze was his fault. Newt wanted to kill him. "Tell 'em to get lost," Newt spat viciously before the guards even spoke. It was all Tommy's fault, every bloody thing.

* * *

><p>"<em>What are you thinking?" she asked quietly, lying beside him on their lane.<em>

_He'd been staring at her face since they'd laid down, the fire was against his back and the light of the flames flickered on her face making her skin look like it was glowing; he could've stared at her forever. "That you're beautiful," he told her simply and unabashed. "We're surrounded by bloody Cranks and that's all I can think about."_

_Her mouth may have smiled but her eyes held more sorrow than she could hold, and it leaked from her eyes as she reached a hand to his face. This was her first moment of sanity in the past four hours, before she'd sat beside him only because he forced her to – but she hit him and dug her nails into his skin wanting to hurt him. Wanting to taste his blood. Now that her mind was clear she was terrified of what she was gonna do to him the next time she lost it, because she didn't think she was gonna come back – the next time her sanity went she knew it was gonna be for good._

_He could nearly see the words she was thinking, that she was trying to make her mouth say; she'd always had a problem verbalizing her thoughts. So he waited, and waited and waited, as she tried to say what she so desperately wanted to tell him. And finally she wrapped her tongue around the words and spoke. "I love you."_

_The fact that she said it, that she actually said those three words in the way a person was supposed to – not as a riddle from a book – should've filled him with joy. But her eyes were so devoid of anything resembling happiness, her hand shaking where rested on his cheek. "Hey," he said trying to calm her, "I love you too."_

_But there was no calm, it would never be calm again when one or both of them were always in a crazed fit. With a sigh he pulled her against him, tucked her head under his chin like he always did and laid with her in his arms. He had no way of knowing that when he told her goodnight, it'd be for the last time._

* * *

><p>"Why do you think we're here, Newt?" Thomas said trying to reason with his friend, who was doing everything he could to make them go away. "I'm sorry you and Eleanor had to stay back and got caught. I'm sorry they brought you guys here. But we can break you out – it doesn't look like anyone gives a klunk who comes or goes. Find her and we'll leave.<p>

That was the last thing Thomas should've said, especially about Eleanor – the thought of her only sent him into a blind craze. Newt had asked Thomas for one thing, one small act of mercy and Thomas' words proved that he had no plans of doing it. And so he turned to him clutching the Launcher in his hand, honestly considering aiming at his bloody face.

"Whoa, there," Minho said taking a half step back. "Slim it nice and calm. There's no need to point a shuck Launcher at my face while we talk. Where'd you get that thing, anyway?"

Newt looked down at it. "I stole it," he answered. "Took it from a guard who made me … unhappy." He could feel his hands shaking with anger and hopelessness at everything. "I'm … not well," he said. "Honestly, I appreciate you buggin' shanks coming for us. I mean it, and she would've appreciated too."

Minho and Thomas looked to where Newt had subconsciously pointed his Launcher when he said she – and for the first time since they stepped in the bowling alley they noticed the girl laying lifeless on the floor. They could see the blood on the wall, staining her white gown, caked on Newt's shirt; the side of her head that was caved in from the bullet was turned away from them, but they could guess well enough what'd happened. It was like the air was sucked straight from their lungs; Thomas because he'd always felt the responsibility to take care of her and he'd failed, and Minho because she was his She-bean and she'd meant the world to Newt.

"But this is where it bloody ends," Newt said not even noticing when their eyes fell to her body. "This is when you turn around and walk back out that door and head for your Berg and fly away. Do you understand me?"

* * *

><p><em>The deafening sound of the gun had drawn everyone near – guards and Cranks alike. But it was the sound of an inhuman scream that had the guards running. "Get back!."<em>

_Several guards stood outside the bowling alley, barring anyone else from entering, and a single guard entered looking for what had happened. The Cranks that were in the rotting building all stood staring at the left most corner where a boy sat by the last fire crying as he cradling a girl's body to his chest. He had to take the girl away, she'd be considered food to those closer to the Gone – it'd cause chaos, maybe rioting; and the Cranks were already hard enough to deal with._

_Newt couldn't hear anything, his ears were ringing and his face was boiling, water pouring from his eyes and his nose as he cried. She couldn't be dead. She'd made living in the Glade bearable, the thought of her made him want to wake up and live in the Scorch – he fought against the despair of dying for her. She couldn't be dead, he didn't know how live without her. "Don't touch her," he yelled recoiling when someone stopped in front of him, bending down to pick up the gun._

"_If I don't take her they will," the guard said knowing it wouldn't be long before the Cranks behind him stepped up to the boy's defense – somehow even when they were losing their minds, the Cranks managed to stay together. "We can bury her, make sure no one else touches her." That wasn't true, they'd burn her like the others. But all he needed was for the boy to believe it. And sure enough his arms relaxed around the girl's shoulders and her body settled on the ground._

_It was a mistake for the guard to step closer, to doubt for one second that this boy would ever consider letting go of that girl. The moment the man bent down to grab her arm Newt lunged, his fists wailing on the man's face hearing his nose crack under his face, until he heard the sound he was looking for. The moment the Launcher clattered on the ground Newt grabbed it and shot the man, enjoying his shrill screams as bolts of electricity encased his body as he writhed on the ground. Newt then turned to the guards that were now in the building knowing something had gone wrong. "She stays," he told them firmly._

_One boy was nothing, Launcher or not they'd get him down – but the Cranks in the bowling alley all turned to the guards and stared with half-crazed eyes prepared to fight to keep the dead girl there as the boy wanted. And the guards had no choice but to give in, not if they didn't want to be overrun, and so they took their guy and left._

_When the last guard left Newt wilted to the ground beside her, clutching the hand that was lifelessly draped over her stomach finding that his lungs didn't know how to breathe without her to inhale first. So he did the only thing he could. He cried._

* * *

><p>Newt lay quietly with Eleanor after their friends left. He guessed they weren't their friends, they were just his. She was dead. This was just a body. Those were things he tried to tell himself, tried to admit; this was just the shell, the person he loved was gone. Just like him.<p>

He wondered when she'd start to rot, if she was already starting, if she'd start to smell soon; not that it mattered, he planned to break out with the other Cranks and go Denver, if he could make himself leave her of course. Maybe he should eat her, he could carry her around inside him, he wouldn't have to leave her – maybe he wouldn't feel so empty

He'd contemplated it before, several times in fact, he even went so far as to lift her wrist to his mouth and take her flesh between his teeth. But it always ended in him crying as he told her he was sorry, that no matter how far Gone he got he'd never that do; he'd hold her as he cried, sometimes lay his head on her utterly still chest.

That's what he did then, still feeling the same fury at Thomas' refusal to kill him as he'd asked in his note. It didn't seem right that she still felt the same, that her breasts were still soft beneath his cheek, that he could still find comfort against her – her skin was cold even though there was a fire only a few feet from her, her body completely immobile as it started to become rigid.

It wasn't her. This was just the shell. The person he loved was gone.

…

_He rolled on his back staring heatedly at the ceiling; she had a way of knotting his stomach that was infuriating and wonderful at the same time. "That is not what I meant and you bloody well know it," he said stubbornly, wanting to hear her say it – needing to hear those words._

_She sat up on an elbow resting her chin on her hand and stared down at him with a teasing smile formed on her mouth. "What do I know?" she asked forcing him to answer his own question._

_He scoffed not willing to give in; he was normally so calm, so in control of himself. She completely ruined any sense of control he had, and she did it all with the lowering of her lashes. "You know," he made the mistake of looking at her. Even in the dim light from the moon the shape of her face, the tip of her nose, the curve of her mouth, the gleam in her eye, it all made his bloody heart come to a stop. And so he grasped at whatever he could to prove she liked him more than she was saying. "You love your love with an H, because he's happy."_

_Her brows rose at his recalling two day old strange words. "I hate him with an H, because he's hideous," she said without answer anything. And then she laughed. "And I'm gonna feed you ham sandwiches."_

_Newt stared up at her so taken off guard by her words that he laid there not knowing what to say. "What's it like in your head?" he asked wishing for a moment he could see the span of her thoughts, and he wondered if they even made sense to her._

_She looked down at him suddenly serious. "It's messy," she told him honestly. "My thoughts are strings and they're all tangled together." She sat up on her elbow staring hard at a spot above his shoulder, and then her mind stuck on a thought and she looked at him. "You untangle me."_

…

"Please come back," he whispered against her chest, as though he were speaking to heart – her heart had been the only reason she'd ever been able to love him. Her mind had been jacked and diseased, but her heart was intact and she'd loved him with every bit of it.

He didn't know how long he laid there before a Crank came to tell him they were leaving. "Give me a minute," Newt said without moving. The Crank grunted obviously not wanting to. "I said give me a bloody minute," he yelled fiercely, nearly startling the man who finally relented and nodded.

He didn't want to leave her. Some traitorous part of his mind kept trying to think that she might wake up, that she might come back and this had all been a dream. And leaving meant not seeing her again. No matter how many times he tried to tell himself this was just her body, that _she_ was gone, that part of his head wouldn't listen. She still felt the same, and that hurt him so much.

"I don't know if there's anything after dying," he said allowed, as though wherever she was she might here him, "but if there is, wait for me." He finally lifted his head to look at her colorless face, fixing the hair over the part of her skull that was broken so he wouldn't see it. With more strength than he had he straightened his shoulders and he sniffed back the rest of his tears before kissing her frozen lips. "I love you too," he told her. He left without looking back.

* * *

><p><em>She laid beside him that night. Sleep was no friend to her, she was kept awake by the taunting thoughts of her insanity. His clothes were torn and dirty, his hair was a mess, his skin was bruised and scratched – and she'd done all of it. She was hurting him.<em>

_There was a blindness when her sanity left, like her mind was gone too – she barely remembered the things she did, she didn't remember anything she said but she knew it must've been awful because there was so much pain in his eyes when her mind came back._

_This was it. She knew the coming day was her last, she knew it in the root of her soul. Her neck had started itching something fierce – it was nothing like the feeling of bugs under her skin, there were tiny needles everywhere and no matter how she scratched it never stopped. It stretched down to her shoulder now, and through the flickering of the fire she saw the blackness of her veins. That was the last push she needed to know the time had come for her to die._

_But it hurt. It hurt her so much to make the choice to leave him, to know that she would break him completely._

_She laid beside him and placed her mouth by his ear. "I love you." Her voice was a breath, enough that he'd hear her and her words would enter his dreams. "That's why I have to do this, because I love you. You'd never admit it, but you've known I was further along than you – I can see it in your eyes that it was scaring you. And that's okay, it scared me to. But I can't do this." Her throat was nearly swollen shut leaving her unable to breathe, her tears slipping from her eyes and into his hair. "The thought of killing you, I can't live knowing I will. So don't blame yourself. You still have time, you can say goodbye. Thomas and Minho will come back, say goodbye." She felt his lashes fluttering against her skin, and she knew he'd wake soon – his dreams had probably turned to panic. "I don't regret the life I was given, you made me so happy to live it. And I love you so much." With tears streaming down her face she kissed him gently, holding him for just a second longer, before she thrust herself away from him and reached for the gun. And then she was dead._

* * *

><p>A pair of star-crossed lovers. Two lifeless bodies lay with miles between them, yearning simply for their flesh to decay beside each other as the earth continued on. He would never see her lovely face, feel the warmth of her sunlight. She would never feel his arms encasing her in safety and joy. They would never love each other again.<p>

As all great love stories end, their love died with them.

* * *

><p><strong>The end. I know I've said this quite a lot throughout the story, but thank you all so much for reading. I enjoyed writing this story more than any of my other stories, and you guys really are the reason. So thank you. I cannot thank you all enough for the support. It all really meant the world to me.<strong>


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